Wiues, submit your selues vnto your own husbands, as vnto the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife, euen as Christ is the head of the Church: and he is the sauiour of the body. Therefore as the Church is subiect unto Christ, so let the wiues bee to their owne husbands in euery thing.
(Ephesians 5:22–24)
* * *
At the supper table at Thieving Lane they ate capon with lemon sauce and dates, and the sour-sweet piquancy recalled to Ben’s mind the exotic tastes of Aleppo. After three years of prison food and weeks of hard tack at sea, such bright flavours had seemed impossible; now he took the marvels of God’s earth for granted, but he could still recall his sense of wonder and surprise. He ate reverently, mindful that such gifts from God were precious. Then he noticed Ellyn’s place was empty and recalled he hadn’t seen her all day. He said, ‘Where’s Ellyn?’
There was no immediate reply, his mother’s head remaining lowered, his father with a mouthful of meat. He turned to Alice.
‘Alice? Where is my sister?’
The girl blushed as he waited for an answer. ‘She is in her chamber,’ she murmured without lifting her eyes. ‘She is feeling a little … unwell.’
‘Unwell how?’ He had to bite back the growing impatience, mindful of his cousin’s shyness of him. But he was aware that he was missing something, a ripple round the table that had passed him by. ‘What am I not being told? Alice?’
She swallowed and finally lifted her face to meet his gaze. There was fear in her eyes and he wondered how she could like him when she seemed scared half to death of him.
‘What is wrong with my sister?’
Alice hesitated and flicked a glance to her uncle, hoping for rescue. Thomas Kemp said, ‘Leave Alice alone.’ Then, ‘Your sister was betrothed to Hugh Merton this morning and she is …’
‘Oh,’ Ben said, ‘I can imagine how she is. Why did no one tell me before?’ He looked from his father to his mother, and both of them looked away so that he realised it had been a conscious decision not to inform him. He stopped eating and laid down his knife, resentment taking his appetite. What had they thought he would do?
‘Why did you not tell me?’ he repeated. ‘She is my sister. Am I to be excluded from all family matters now?’
Emma Kemp stood up abruptly, her chair scraping loudly on the boards, and without another word she left the room. After a second’s hesitation, Alice got up and followed her. Ben watched them go until the door swung shut behind them.
‘Sir?’
‘See?’ his father said. ‘Now you’ve upset your mother.’
‘It was a reasonable question,’ he answered. His mouth was tight with anger, holding back the words that threatened to come.
‘You’ve brought enough trouble to this family already.’
‘What did you think I would do?’
‘One wayward child is enough.’
‘Wayward?!’
His father swivelled in his chair to face Ben head-on. ‘She needed no encouragement from you in her obstinacy. She has always looked up to you, always craved your approval. Even as a child, her crimes were always down to you.’
Ben was silent. A bright heat pulsated through his body and his fingers worked against the smooth surface of his glass.
‘When you were in Aleppo,’ his father went on, ‘do you know she used to threaten to stow away on one of our ships and go out to find you every time I mentioned the subject of marriage?’
He almost smiled. It would not have surprised him in the least to find her there in the East, her spirit untrammelled by the need to conform. Richard had been right: they were very much alike.
‘You misjudge me,’ he said. ‘I would have told her to marry him. I would have her safe and settled, the same as you.’
‘Then it’s a pity you won’t do the same thing for yourself and give your poor mother some peace.’
Ben acknowledged the rebuke with a tilt of his head. ‘I have my reasons,’ he said.
His father made no reply but Ben recognised the look of disappointment on his face – he had seen it many times.
‘I’ll talk to Ellyn,’ he said, rising from the table with his supper uneaten. ‘Perhaps I can use my influence for good for once.’
‘I would be grateful,’ Thomas Kemp said, a wry smile beginning at the corners of his lips. ‘A betrothal is not yet a marriage.’
Ben nodded. Then he turned and walked away and left his father to finish eating supper alone.
In her chamber Ellyn sat at the window staring out at the houses across the street, their curtains drawn against the evening, windowpanes dark and blank. Below them figures hurried in the street with flaring torches. It was a bitter night to be outdoors. The Abbey bell chimed six as he came into the room but she did not turn her head.
She said, ‘Do you remember how you used to take me to play at the river? When we used to watch the ships and plan to stow away?’
‘I remember.’ He sat at the other end of the window seat and observed her. Her face was sad and pinched from crying, the dark eyes clouded and their usual fire extinct. She had been just a small child, and he almost a man. But he had seen himself in her, a kinship between them he never shared with Sarah.
‘I should have gone when I could.’
‘You would have been disappointed,’ he told her. ‘It’s not as we dreamed.’ Then, ‘It could be worse, Nell.’
‘How?’ She turned towards him and he had never seen her look so beaten. Reaching out his hand, he took hold of her small, cold fist.
‘He is a good man. He’ll look after you. And your home will be just a few streets away so you can still go sit by the river and dream if you want to.’
She kept her eyes lowered, trained on her hand in his. ‘I don’t even like him.’
‘You don’t know him. He’s not a bad man and he cares for you. I saw it in his face last night. You’ll learn to like him in time if you give him a chance.’
Her mouth tightened and she looked away, gazing out once more to the street. It was empty now and the lanterns at the doors glimmered wearily in the drizzle. ‘What do you care if I marry happily or not? What is it to you?’
He tightened his hand round hers. ‘You are all I have left that I truly love, Nell. I want you to be settled. I would have you be safe and protected.’
‘Like you did for Cecily?’
He let go her hand as if it had burned him. Then he stood up and paced across the room to stand at the hearth. The fire was low and he squatted to tend it, throwing on another log and thrusting savagely with the poker to force it to light. He said nothing, and the silent prayer did nothing to ease the pain the truth of her words inflicted. When he turned from the fireplace Ellyn had swung round to face him.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘That was cruel.’
‘What could you know?’ he asked. ‘You were so young.’
‘I was almost a woman. I was old enough to know she loved you.’
‘She did not want the life I gave her.’
‘But you loved each other.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘And look where it led us. Where it led her. You’re right – I did nothing to protect her, nothing to keep her safe. And I won’t let the same thing happen to you.’
‘You couldn’t have known, Ben. Who but God could have foreseen such a thing?’
He shook his head and kept silent, remembering. They had both of them known where it would lead, and he had given her no choice but to follow him.
‘I shouldn’t have married her,’ he said. ‘And perhaps she would still be alive.’
‘She was lucky to marry a man she loved and she knew it.’
He stepped away from the hearth and retook his place on the window seat. The chill from the glass made him shiver. ‘You will grow to love him,’ he said, turning the subject away from his pain onto hers.
‘Don’t talk nonsense. I’ll grow to accept him, that is all.’
‘But you will be taken care of, safe.’
>
‘Perhaps.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Why all this sudden interest in making sure I’m looked after, that I’m safe? You never concerned yourself much before.’
‘Our parents grow older. If I go …’ He touched his fingers to the glass, unable to finish the sentence.
‘Go where?’ she demanded. ‘You’re not going back to Aleppo after all, are you?’
‘No. But I may not always be here.’ Meaning he might be in prison again, or worse, but he could not say the words. She was safer knowing nothing.
‘What do you mean, Ben Kemp? What are you up to? You cannot lie to me.’
‘I can and I will,’ he said, ‘if it will protect you. Marry Hugh Merton, Nell, and be a good wife. Give him sons and be the one child in the family that spares our parents any more grief.’
‘I don’t want to marry him.’
‘Is there someone else you do want to marry?’
She sighed and shook her head.
‘You have to marry someone,’ he said softly. ‘You can’t stay here all your life. Our parents grow old, and what will happen to you then?’
‘I’ll come and live with you.’ She gave a wry smile but he knew it was only half a joke.
‘Merton is a good man,’ he said, and laid his hand on hers. She seemed not to notice, but turned her gaze to the window and stared out into the blackness beyond. ‘Father has chosen him well and carefully – no one wants for you to be unhappy.’
‘Well, I am,’ she snapped back, drawing her hand out from under his, tucking hair behind her ears with restless fingers.
‘Unhappy?’ he asked. ‘Or afraid?’
She swung her head round towards him at that, but her eyes remained lowered, gazing at nothing. ‘Why do you say that? Why would I be afraid?’
‘Placing your life in another man’s care …’ Cecily must have been terrified of her marriage to him, knowing the life he would give her. But the sin of his desire for her had made him blind. ‘Of your marriage bed …’
‘No,’ she answered quickly. ‘Not of that. I am not afraid of that.’
‘But you are afraid …?’
She said nothing, eyes grazing the floor at their feet.
‘You remember Cecily, and her labour,’ he said, with sudden understanding. ‘You were here when she died.’
Her jaw tightened, lips clamped tight, and she nodded once, briefly. Ben lifted a hand to her face and brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers.
‘Oh, Nell,’ he murmured. ‘It doesn’t have to be like that. Cecily … that was my fault … if I had been here … if I hadn’t been in prison …’
Ellyn blinked, trying to hold back the tears, but they came anyway, wet against his fingers. ‘It was awful. So long … it took so long … I can still hear her cries … She called for you, near the end when she knew it was hopeless … She called out your name, over and over and over.’
He tensed against the thought of it and the tears burned behind his eyes. No one had ever told him the details before, but he had imagined it often enough – images of Cecily’s death still filled his nightmares. Ellyn had been a young girl on the cusp of her own womanhood; no wonder she was afraid.
‘I don’t want to die like that,’ she breathed. ‘Not like she did.’
He drew her to him then and she folded willingly into him to weep against his shoulder. His own tears he blinked back with fierce determination, swallowing down his grief, murmuring silent prayers for strength and for forgiveness. Her body seemed small and frail in his arms, childlike. He remembered holding her the same way when she was little: she had fallen asleep against him many times, safe in her big brother’s arms, where nothing could hurt her. It was hard to think she would soon be a wife, a mother – he still thought of her as a girl. He wished he could take her with him as she wanted, but there was danger where he was going and he would never bring her to that.
Slowly her sobs began to ebb, her body trembling lightly against him, her breath coming in uneven gasps. He loosened his hold on her, but still kept her close, protective and comforting. Her breathing slowed, the trembling ceased, and after a while she shifted herself back from his embrace. Looking up into his face she attempted a smile. Ben smiled in return, and moved to wipe the tears from her face with his thumbs. She jerked her head away from his touch and rubbed at her cheeks herself.
‘Forgive me,’ she whispered, sniffing.
He waited, watching her as she fought to compose herself and still her breathing. When she was calm enough she turned to him again. ‘I’m sorry, Ben. I didn’t know I was so afraid. I just didn’t know.’
He nodded. He knew well what it meant to feel fear and keep it secret. Even from yourself.
‘I wish you would take me with you,’ she murmured, ‘wherever it is you’re going. I’m sure I would be happier there with you.’
‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘But God has willed a different path for you.’
‘I have no choice, do I,’ she said. It was not a question.
‘No,’ he replied. ‘You have to marry someone sooner or later. It may as well be Merton.’
She gave him a small smile then shifted close to him again, laying her head on his shoulder. He put his arm round her and held the small body close. They sat for a while, his arm still holding her and the cold glass chilling their backs, their faces feeling the warmth of the fire. Finally she turned to look up at him.
‘Thank you.’
‘What for?’
She shrugged. ‘Being my brother.’
He smiled. ‘Have faith, Nell,’ he said, letting his arm slip from her shoulders. ‘Trust in God and all will be well.’
‘Perhaps.’ She shrugged, moving away from him and smoothing her hair with rapid automatic fingers. She was still sniffing, and her eyes were puffy from weeping. ‘But there is little I can do about it either way. Father has decided. It is time for me to put off childish things, time I took my place in the world.’ She gave him a small smile, finding her courage, some of her spirit returning. ‘Don’t fret about me. You’ve your own cares to think of. I’ll be all right. As you say, Hugh’s not a bad man. I could do worse.’
‘He’ll look after you, Nell,’ he said. ‘And your life will be settled.’
She nodded and ran her hands across her face to wipe clear the last remnants of her tears. Ben waited, giving her time to gather her resolve to leave her girlhood behind her and face her future as a woman and a wife. Whatever happened from now, he had done what he could to see her safe and protected. He could have done no more.
Ellyn gave him another small smile that spoke of dreams unlived and resignation, and his heart turned in pity. Then she took a deep breath and squared her narrow shoulders.
‘Are you ready?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she answered, drawing herself up, and nodding. ‘I’m ready.’
‘Good girl,’ he said. ‘Let’s go downstairs. You can have some supper and make your peace with Father.’ He stood up and held out his hand for her. She hesitated just a fraction of a second before she took it and let him lead her from the chamber towards the head of the stairs. There she paused, breathing deeply, before she stepped forward without another word and hurried down the stairs. Ben followed close behind, careful not to tread on her skirts as they trailed on the steps at his feet. When they were nearly at the bottom, on the second-last stair, she stopped so abruptly he almost ran into her. He grabbed at the banister to stop himself pitching forward.
‘He’s not here now, is he?’ she whispered over her shoulder at him, close behind her. ‘Merton, I mean.’
‘No,’ he replied. ‘He isn’t here.’
She sighed a deep breath of relief and he stepped down to walk beside her along the passage to the dining chamber. At the door she looked up at him again. ‘Be careful, Ben, will you please?’ she whispered. ‘Stay safe. For my sake.’
He patted the small hand she had laid on his arm.
‘Of course I will,’ he lied. ‘Of course.’
&n
bsp; Later he sat before the hearth alone with Richard. The rest of the family had gone to bed, Ellyn reconciled to her parents and sad. Ben had watched her show her brave face through the evening and hoped he had done the right thing. Now the house was quiet. His father’s footsteps had ceased across the room above and the only sound was the hollow roar of the fire in the chimney as it fought against the bitter chill of the night. Both men remained close to the hearth, drawn by the light and warmth, cold darkness at their backs. Ben sat on the floor amongst the cushions, smoothing the soft fur of the greyhound with one hand while Richard reclined in his chair, wine glass playing loosely in the fingers of one hand. Ben could feel the eyes of the other man watching him but he did not look up. He was comfortable in the warm and he felt no need to break the silence.
Finally, Richard spoke. ‘Are you planning to go?’
‘Go where?’ he replied, without lifting his head. It had always been easy to needle his friend.
‘To Aleppo.’ Richard’s answer was testy. ‘Will you go as your father wishes?’
Ben shook his head. ‘I’ve already told you. And him. No.’
‘Why not? It would mean the world to your father.’
‘Yes,’ Ben agreed, lifting his head at last to regard his friend. ‘It would. But I live my life to please God, not my father.’
There was a pause. Richard drained his glass and shifted forward in his chair. ‘Surely you realise you cannot go on as you are,’ he said.
‘I am happy as a tutor.’ He was determined not to be drawn into argument.
Richard sucked in a quick breath of irritation. ‘Don’t play games with me. You know very well what I mean.’
Ben was silent, unsure what to say. The terms of the argument had changed since the old days – his words might be used against him now, and he was no longer sure of his old friend’s loyalty. He wished it could be otherwise. He missed the cut and thrust of their debate, and the understanding that all their differences did not spoil the love that bound them: it hurt to believe that Richard might betray him.
‘You no longer trust me,’ Richard said. He sat back in his chair again, affecting hurt.
The King James Men Page 14