by Ann Jacobs
Joshua Fielding spoke up. “Rob said that you have already had the banns called.”
Answering Joshua Fielding, Anne said, “Yes I have.”
“Am I to have the honor of officiating?” Joshua Fielding asked.
Anne looked at Rob, then back at Joshua Fielding. “I understood that was why you accompanied Rob…er, Sir Robert…to Hepburn. Uncle Cuthbert, do you mind?”
“I understand the legalities involved,” Cuthbert replied his tone serious. “And it has always been the man and woman who have been the ministers of marriage to one another, by mutual consent. The form truly matters not. There have been many different forms for the ceremony over the centuries. Marriage remains primarily a matter of will. Christians disagree on the nature of marriage, whether it be a sacrament, a sacramental, a special grace, or merely an allowance for human weakness. But the one thing that we all agree on is that marriage is by no means to be entered into lightly. I know you, Niece. I know that you would not have accepted his offer of marriage without a good deal of thought and soul-searching being involved in that decision.”
“Yes,” Anne answered quietly as she helped herself to a pear half, a collop of marzipan bacon, an orange, and some cheese. “Marriage is a profoundly serious matter. I’ve been widowed for a decade now. Had I taken the matter less seriously, I would have remarried before now.”
Rob smiled. “I am delighted that you had not accepted any of your previous offers, Nan…my lady.”
“As am I,” Anne replied with a small smile.
The conversation became general until everyone had finished eating.
“Now, I have work to do. I had this afternoon planned to be at my loom. The work needs done as several of the servants need new items of clothing. For that, I must weave the cloth. I beg that you will excuse me after dinner. Gentlemen, I pray you, make yourselves at home. We have a fairly good library that is certainly at your disposal. There are instruments a plenty if you wish to amuse yourself in music. Cards and fair dice are available, should you wish to game. Imaginary stakes only if you please. Sir Robert shall be occupied in having his image made. Or, should you wish to be at your prayers, the chapel is available. Anything you need, you have only to ask one of the servants. The late Lord Solway found it a congenial occupation on a miserable winter day to go with a friend into the long gallery and fence. Foils, with buttons, are stored in the closet there for that purpose. Again, I would have you make yourselves at home. I only ask you that if you do fence that you do so with the buttons on the foils so that you do not injure one another.”
Rob laughed. “Aye, my lady, we hear you.”
“So I hope,” Anne replied. “Pray, excuse me, gentlemen. I shall be in my workroom if I am needed.”
* * * * *
She had taken a moment to send a note around to Mistress Norris with an invitation for the widow and three daughters come to supper this evening at the Hall with music and dancing to follow. The invitation included two overnight stays at the Hall, a sleigh ride to convey them to and from the Hall, and an invitation to the wedding tomorrow evening. The fact that there were three bachelors present was a fact that she didn’t waste time letting the widow of the former village Rector know.
Anne sat at her loom. She had forced all of her attention into the cloth she was weaving, forcing herself to quickly throw the shuttle through the warp threads and to tighten the woof down to produce a thick, tight cloth. She had worked as fast as she could and still make good, sturdy black woolen cloth. This was her second afternoon on this bolt of fabric. Anne wanted to see it finished. The work went on for hours.
Three other maids were sitting in the room, near the windows, knitting woolen stockings and chatting animatedly as they worked. Anne had shut out much of their chatter except when they had particularly addressed her with a question. Sometimes, the demands on her time and the time of her maids just seemed to overwhelm her. And now, she was taking on the duties of keeping a husband pleased?
Insanity. That is the only explanation, she thought wryly.
But she knew that was not the case. She knew only too well how easily she responded to Rob. The prospect of sharing a bed with him filled her with such pleasure that it nearly drowned out her other very legitimate concerns. Fire burned hotly between them. When they had more time than a quick tumble, what pleasures would he show her?
Would he be gentle in bed? Would he be demanding? Would he be well skilled in the arts of love, or have a repertoire of sexual acts limited to fucking only? Oh, not that he fucked badly. No, not at all. Nothing that passionate could ever be bad between a man and a woman. She certainly had enjoyed those few moments they had shared. Before, with her late husband, it had been enough for him that he was satisfied in bed. Now, she wanted some of that pleasure for herself. Maybe that was selfish. Even so, she had no intention of going through the rest of her life without having the pleasure she now knew herself capable of experiencing within intimacy with a man.
She sighed softly.
The maids all heard that soft sound. All of them recognized it as a lover’s sigh. It had been a very long time since they had heard it from the lips of her ladyship. They smiled at each other in approval. It was high time that her ladyship had a man in her life.
Anne’s mind turned with speculations about Rob. Would he enjoy many of things she wanted to explore with him? Or would he think her wanton if she kissed his quimstake and balls? Would he be revolted if she asked him to kiss her quiff, then to run his tongue over that most sensitive part of her? Given their encounter earlier, she didn’t think he would be averse to making love in other than the standard man on top position. The more she thought on this, the more images of them together filled her mind, with Rob’s hands and mouth loving her, with her mouth and hands loving him, hip to hip, grinding, thrusting, reaching their pleasure. The speculation was nearly more than she could stand. Just thinking about him made her breasts heavy and her quiff wet. She couldn’t deny the fact that she desired him. She couldn’t deny the fact that her desire for him surpassed anything she had until now thought herself capable of feeling.
One of the maids, Sally, working at the other loom looked at her. “Milady, shall I finish that for you?”
“No, Sally. I’ll do it. Thank you.”
The maid smiled at her.
Anne looked at the young woman. Sally had been at the manor for thirteen years since Anne had first taken the orphaned child into service. Anne had watched her grow into a sturdy young woman of eighteen. Sally would never be a beauty. But, she wasn’t hard on the eyes. And the girl, the young woman, was a hard worker possessing a sweet disposition.
“Sally, you have grown up in this house. I am fond of you. Shall I make a match for you?” Anne asked the servant.
Sally colored. “Milady, no, thank you. I’ve been a-meaning to talk to you about it. Thomas Wilson and I…” Sally said, breaking off in embarrassment.
“Ah.”
Thomas Wilson in charge of the stables. He was a fine young man of twenty-two, the youngest son of the local innkeeper. Over the last ten years, he’d worked his way up into a position of authority in the Hepburn stables . Thom, from what she could tell of him, would be a good husband to Sally. Anne approved of this marriage. She smiled at Sally. “You have my blessing. And you and Thomas may have Charlie Riggs’ former cottage as your marital home.”
“Oh, milady,” Sally gushed as though Anne had just given her a priceless gift instead of the use of a truly tiny cottage.
“Or did you wish to live in the stables with the rest of the grooms?” Anne teased.
“No, milady,” Sally said with a chuckle. “I was mortal a-feared we would be a-living with his mum.”
She couldn’t blame Sally for that. Peggy Wilson, a widow who ran the village inn along with her oldest son, could be thoroughly unpleasant when crossed. Last Anne had heard, Peggy was matchmaking between Thomas and the only daughter of the village blacksmith. This marriage between Thom and Sally would
not be pleasing to Peggy Wilson. But she’d get used to it.
Anne smiled. “The cottage is your residence as soon as you are man and wife, but not a minute before. It comes unfurnished. But the cottage is sound. We re-thatched it a year ago. Charlie’s furniture was claimed by his cousins. I will make wedding present to you of a bedstead and mattresses, as well as a table and chairs. I’ll have to check the accounts to see how much money you have laid aside for yourself from your wages. Off-hand, I believe you have saved sixteen pounds over the years.”
“Sixteen pounds, six shillings, I believe, milady,” Sally answered.
Anne smiled at the young woman. “That is a good sum for a bride’s portion and should be more than enough for you to equip yourself with household goods sufficient to start your married life as well as to put something back against the future. I shall issue it to you as soon as I can check the accounts.”
“Yes, milady,” Sally replied.
“And if you wish, you may continue working in the house until your babes start coming. Then your first duty is to them. But, there will always be work for you weaving and sewing for Hepburn Hall. You have a fine hand with cloth.”
Sally smiled. “I enjoy the work.”
“When will you have the banns called?”
“Starting Sunday, if it suits your ladyship.”
Anne nodded. “It is your and Thomas’ life. You must make the decisions about it as suit you.”
“You’ve been very kind to me. You are kind to all your servants, m’am. But, you’ve always been especially kind to me. Not every mistress would have seen her servants all taught their letters and sums.”
“That is a shame bordering on sin. Everyone should be able to read the broadsheets for news as well as her Bible for inspiration. Anyone who cannot do sums well enough to manage his own money is at a profound disadvantage,” Anne replied.
Sally smiled. “Aye, m’am.”
“Before your wedding, you and I will have a comfortable coze about marriage.”
Sally blushed. “Mistress Giddings has already talked to me about it.”
Anne smiled. She could just about imagine what the cook had told this child about sex. Lottie Giddings was thrice widowed, having married a likeable rogue each time. Two of her husbands had been killed in taproom brawls. The third had drowned after going out in a fishing boat while drunk. “As I said, we will speak frankly about marriage before you and Thomas wed. Now, run along and tell your Thomas of your news. Go carefully! I do imagine that the ground has turned truly icy.”
“Yes, milady.”
Once she was alone, Anne finished tying off the bolt of cloth she had woven. She went to look at the work Sally had done. As usual, it was excellent. Another couple of hours work and Sally would be done with this bolt of fabric as well. This bolt of Sally’s fabric would mark the last of the spring’s shearing of wool that they had set aside for weaving. Once the last of the wool was woven, the cutting and sewing would begin for the new clothes for most of the household.
The fire was low. Anne went to the fireplace to stoke it and add more fuel.
“Oh, milady,” Joan Carry said as she rushed over from where she had been sitting knitting. “You needn’t trouble yourself with that. I’ll do it.”
“I am capable of stoking and feeding a fire, Joan.”
“Why, bless my soul, of course you are! There’s precious little you ain’t capable of doing, m’am. You know our jobs as well as we do. It’s a joy to serve in this house as you have no unreasonable expectations.”
Anne laughed. “Joan, you are an original.”
“Yes, m’am,” Joan said with a laugh. “Always have been.”
“You and the other girls have been working steadily on those stockings. Thank you for your work.”
Joan smiled. “It’s easy enough winter work, milady. Easier by far than that weaving you do. Most grand ladies would reserve the light work for themselves. Like Herself over in Carlisle. That one never does anything more strenuous than a teeny bit of embroidery. But no, you leave us to do the light work while you take for yourself a share of the more the heavy work. Here. Let me feed the fire.”
Anne laughed, threw up her hands and went back to her loom. She removed her work apron, and pulled back on her gloves. “Work no longer than another hour at the stockings, then see Mistress Giddings for your supper. When the stockings are all done, we begin the cutting and sewing of new clothes for all the staff. With all of us working, we should be able to finish in a fortnight. I shall be in the stillroom if I am needed.”
“Yes, m’am,” the servants acknowledged.
Joan spoke up. “Milady, that was kind of you, what you are doing for Sally and Thom. I know it means a lot to her.”
Anne smiled. “I’d do the same for any of you.”
“We know this. And the staff loves you for it. You’ve always been taking care of us before you take care of yourself,” Joan replied. “You make sure we get new clothes once a year. New shoes each fall. Now, forgive me for speaking out of turn. But when was the last time you did anything for yourself that someone didn’t push on you? Yes, you had eight fine new gowns this fall, when you put off mourning, but only because Lord Solway presented you with the fine fabric for the gowns as a gift on your birthday. I can’t think of a time in the last few years that you did anything for yourself at all.”
Anne looked at Joan. She felt her anger rise. But she tamped it back because she knew the servant was speaking out of concern for her. It was important to take care of her people. What had she needed? She had spent most of the last few years wearing black, living quietly, mourning one relative or another. First for Anthony and the twins, then for her brothers, then for her father, then for her mother, and finally for Jane and her cousin’s children. It had only been since September that she had been out of mourning. It had been to mark the end of her long mourning that her son had given her the colored fabrics for new clothes. “After an hour, go take your supper. Then you have the evening to yourselves. There will be music and dancing in the great hall. You are welcome to come listen and even to form up your own lines and circles for the country dances.”
* * * * *
Anne was alone in her stillroom, preparing the tincture to reduce the chance of conceiving. This was an old receipt passed down through the generations of the women in her family. Anne had brought the seeds for this collection of herbs with her when she came here as a young bride. Each year, she had planted a large bed of these, dried the leaves and flowers, and kept them to use for herself and for any married woman who asked for help in maintaining her health by spacing out her children. There were many who would see this practice of rendering a woman temporarily sterile as an abomination. Anne knew the arguments. But, she couldn’t feel badly about it. Too many women were worn out with childbearing, having a baby each year. Too many women died in childbirth. Surely God wouldn’t have made such green herbs bearing seed, which the Bible said were set apart for the use of man, if He had not intend them to be used.
She looked at the preparation. It would be ready to bottle in the morning. For today, she would brew a tissane of the leaves and seeds. That should be sufficient. From now on, she would take seven drops of the tincture each day.
Rob wouldn’t like this. Most men didn’t like the idea of interfering in the natural course of reproduction. But they didn’t have to bear the babes, to suffer the risks of being with child. She couldn’t imagine that he would be marrying at all again, if he didn’t want a son and heir. To deny him this would be cheating him of one of the benefits of marriage. But, it—like much about this marriage—wasn’t anything that he needed to know.
She sighed heavily as she put the seeds into a pestle and ground them coarsely. She’d put a small kettle of water on to boil earlier. A glance at the fireplace told her that the water was hot.
Cheating Rob. That could be the subtitle of a book written about this marriage. Cheating Rob, Using Rob, Betraying Rob. All appropriate. It
hurt to think that she was doing this when all she wanted was to be a true wife to him.
She put the herbs into an infuser cup, a large earthenware cup in which sat a smaller removable cup that had a series of tiny holes in the bottom to allow the herbs to stay in and the water to strain out. The herbs went into the smaller cup then she ladled the hot water over them, put on the lid to hold in the heat, and let the brew steep for ten minutes.
Anne watched as the liquid drained out of the smaller cup as she lifted it from the larger cup. The color was right. It was of the correct strength. She added a large spoon of malt syrup and stirred it. Then she drank the brew down. She had never liked the sharp taste of this particular tissane. But it was necessary.
Like so much else in her life, it was merely necessary. And necessity was a harsh taskmistress. Placing an innocent infant at hazard was not something she could do. Were things to go badly, were she to be found to be working for Charles’ cause, she would be executed by Cromwell’s government as a traitor. She had heard rumors that some Roundhead units had summarily executed children along with their parents. She hadn’t been able to verify that. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t, take that chance. As it was, the potential consequences of being caught were ghastly. Adding more people to be harmed was not a good idea.
* * * * *
When she returned to the Hall, she saw that the painting was nearly done. The artist was just putting the expression on Rob’s face. She walked over into Rob’s direct line of sight, taking almost nearly the place where she had stood for her own sitting.
Rob smiled at her. It was a loving smile punctuated by clear desire in his eyes. Anne smiled at him in return.
Anne stood there for a moment, then sat down in the gold brocade covered chair just behind her and to her left.
“Master Goodwin is nearly done with the portrait, Sir Robert,” Anne said quietly.