“Of course, Mistress Blanche. Forgive me for distressing you.” His voice was all gracious apology, but I thought I caught an edge of impatience in it. “So tell me, mistress, what does occupy your thoughts? What do you do?”
“Do?” I could imagine Blanche’s eyebrows shooting up to match her tone.
“Aye. What keeps a young lady such as yourself busy every day?”
“I have learned everything necessary to keep a household, sir.”
“Admirable, to be sure. And for certes you do not neglect your devotions?”
“Of course not.”
“And reading? What books have you read?”
“As you know, sir, my father has just retained tutors for my sister and me.”
He scoffed lightly. “You father has generously accepted gifts from fawning fellows, but I suspect he has not neglected you up till now. Even if you have no Latin, you surely read English.”
I drove my fingernails into the wood of the doorframe to keep myself from flying into the hall and throwing myself between him and Blanche, crying, “Yes, I read! I read anything I can get my hands on, and she cares nothing for it!”
“Of course I read English” was Blanche’s indignant reply.
“Have you read Chaucer, then?” the knight asked.
I snorted. My father had brought home a newly printed volume of Chaucer last year. She had flipped through it, glancing at the pictures, declared it dull, and tossed it on my bed.
Blanche laughed, a musical burble. Perhaps she even shook a teasing finger at him. “Now, Sir William, don’t think I don’t see what you are doing. You are testing me. I have read what my tutors put before me, it is true, but what woman would do more?” Her voice slid lower, seductively. “And what man would want a woman who did?”
Sir William chuckled but did not reply to her. Instead, he asked my father for more wine. I peeled myself away from the doorframe and crept back to the desk. I tried to return my attention back to the accounts and ignore the conversation in the hall.
Half a candle later, I surrendered. The numbers would not stay in their columns, the voices impinged on my tired brain, and Blanche’s laugh scraped at my skin like rough-hewn wood. I stood up to stretch my back and began to extinguish the candles, one by one.
It was that plain, methodical act that made me sit down again. A thing that had been niggling and twitching in the back of my mind as I reviewed the account book became suddenly clear—there were numbers that did not add up properly, and not merely because of my father’s sloppy methods of record-keeping.
I gathered up the heavy book in my arms and went to the door. Father, seated in his own big chair near the empty hearth would not see me, but Blanche, facing him, would. I waved a hand to catch her eye. She deliberately looked away from me and turned her face toward Sir William.
I stamped my foot and waved again.
She didn’t even flinch.
I walked into the hall. Seeing me, she widened her eyes and shook her head once, sharply—a warning.
I kept walking.
Father turned slightly in his chair and saw me coming. He barely suppressed his groan. “What is it, Kathryn?”
“I need to speak with you, Father.” I glanced around the circle, my eyes skipping over the knight like a flat stone over a pond: touching once, then again, and again.
“Not now,” he said. “Cannot you see that I have a guest?”
Sir William had risen as I approached and now bowed politely. I curtsied as well as I could with the massive account book in my arms.
“Please pardon the interruption, but Father, this is very important.”
“Important?”
My cheeks went hot and red. “Yes. Important.” I held the book out toward him. “I have found something in the accounts. It’s a small thing, a series of small things, but when they add up….”
Father stared at the book as though I were offering him rotten meat. “Can this not wait until morning?”
I looked down at my feet, or rather, I would have looked at my feet but saw only the thick pages of the account book. Of course I could have waited. Should have waited. “Yes, Father.”
He turned to Sir William. “I must apologize for my daughter’s rude behavior, Sir William. She should know better than to interrupt, but as you may have heard….” He raised his hands helplessly. My flush grew hotter. What can one do about the willful Kathryn?
“Not at all, Master Mulleyn,” Sir William replied. “I find Mistress Kathryn’s zeal— refreshing.”
I was as surprised as my father. We both looked at Sir William, astonished. He continued, “In fact, I am surprised you would apologize for Mistress Kathryn’s diligence in defending your interests. You must be very proud to have such a clever daughter.”
All three of us stared at him.
“Why,” Father said at last, “in heaven and earth would a gentleman want a clever daughter?”
Another frozen moment, and then Sir William laughed. “Of course, of course, Master Mulleyn. I defer to your wisdom. After all, you have two daughters. Who would know better than you what virtues are best in them?”
Chapter 4
Tuesday
The next morning, the hall was even more crowded with men, if such a thing were possible. I grabbed a goblet of small beer from Andrew’s tray as he passed smoothly among the visitors, and headed for the long bench beside the hearth where, on Sunday, the tutors had sat. The sour smell of the beer turned my stomach, and I set it down on the bench beside me, untouched. I noted the men greedily eyeing my father’s things, judging the worth of everything in the room, including Blanche and me. I put my hands down to grip the edge of the bench.
My left hand touched something and I looked down. It was one of the books Master Lawry had brought on Sunday, forgotten in this dark corner. With a glance at the chatting groups, I lifted it carefully into my lap.
The room fell away. All the noise, all the colors. All that remained were me and the words on the page.
Sometime later, I became aware of a person standing over me. I looked up, blinking.
“What are you reading?” the knight asked.
I raised the book in one hand, revealing the printed page. “This is one of the books you gave my father. It was just left here.” I could hear the disbelief in my own voice. “This one is The Consolation of Philosophy by Boethius.”
“Heavy matter,” he said.
I hefted the book in my hands. “No more heavy than a loaf of bread.”
“Scriptum est quia non in pane solo vivet homo,” he quoted.
“Indeed,” I replied tartly. “Scripture does say that man does not live on bread alone, although you could not prove that by this town.”
I dropped my eyes back to the book, the words gliding across the page like leaves on a stream, dancing and swirling. I willed them to stay in their places and make sense.
Sir William set my goblet aside and sat beside me on the bench.
I blinked at the page. Why had he not gone away?
The silence lengthened, stretched, became oppressive to me. “Why are you here in this quiet corner, sir?” I asked. “Are you not fascinated by Blanche’s conversation?” I leaned forward as though I were listening in. “I believe she is telling Master Blaine and young Master Chandler all about her taste in jewelry.”
The knight leaned back against the wall, stretching his legs out in front of him, crossing his sturdy boots at the ankles. He rubbed a hand against his thigh, and the slightly scratchy sound seemed to vibrate the hairs on my forearms. He glanced at Blanche from under half-closed eyelids. “Taedet mē,” he said.
In trying to suppress my laughter, I made a hideous snorting sound, which only made me laugh harder. Silently, Sir William handed me the goblet of small beer and sat back again, pulling the book out of my lap and studying it as though it were the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. I sipped at the beer, trying not to choke, and my giggles devolved into hiccups. I pressed a hand to m
y lips and tried to still my body.
If only he knew—if only I could explain to him—why I was laughing.
After dinner, Father claimed he had business to attend to, and perhaps he did, since he had spent so much of the last day and a half entertaining the suitors. True or not, he went out, and the gentlemen were obliged to leave.
Since Father was not about to notice I was not participating in the needless lessons, I claimed a megrim and went upstairs to my bedchamber. Blanche, enjoying the attentions of the beautiful language master, waved me away without even looking up.
I fell asleep in the dull warmth of the afternoon, but I was awakened as the church bell struck nones by a great jumble of sound from below.
Voices, yes, but also musical instruments: the whine of strings, and the thump of drums, and the flourish of pipes.
The thud of boots: many, many boots. What on earth…?
As my feet hit the flagstone floor of the hall, I halted. I was surprised, and yet not at all surprised, to find Blanche entirely surrounded by men: our tutors, their employers, other guests from the inn, local folk, every eligible male in the parish, it seemed. Even more men than this morning. Their voices rattled the rafters, nearly drowning the halting sounds of lute, pipe, and horn warming up.
“Well, wouldn’t this be a revelation to my father?” I exclaimed.
The men might have ignored me if they even heard me over their own cacophony, but Blanche’s ear is as tuned to my voice as mine is to hers. “How so?” she replied, and at her words, the room quieted.
“We,” I said, “are meant to be staying quietly at home, applying ourselves to our lessons.”
Blanche smiled, making her radiant, but only I could see it did not light her eyes. “Am I not at home?” Someone I couldn’t see tapped quickly on a drum, unleashing a ripple of stifled mirth.
I folded my arms. “What lesson are you learning, Blanche? Or are you the teacher here?”
“The fault is mine, Mistress Kathryn,” said Master Lucas, the chubby, sweaty music master, stumbling to his feet. “I thought—that is, it came to me that you young ladies might benefit from a musical performance by experienced musicians. A number of musicians. More than just myself, you see.” He searched the crowd, looking to someone—anyone—for support, the fat pearl swinging in his ear. The others gathered there merely gazed back at him politely. He turned back to me, then darted his eyes down to his clasped hands. “There are many gentlemen in this town—I was most pleased to discover—who have the proper training, and they were, many of them, so kind as to offer to come here today….”
All of them unmarried, I thought but did not say. Instead, I said, “Of course, you sought and received my father’s approval?”
Master Lucas went red to the brim of his foolish hat. “I would have— That is, I did try—”
Blanche’s lips tightened. “Father will approve when he learns of it,” she said, her tone reflecting none of her irritation with me. “He will be delighted to have music in the house.”
“We shall see,” I said as I spun and headed for the door. Father must be about town somewhere. I would find him and for once, maybe Blanche would face the consequences of her actions.
Suddenly, a voice rang out. “Nay, but stay awhile, mistress. We would hear how your lessons progress.”
Glancing over my left shoulder, I saw one man stand, detaching himself from the crowd. But I need not have looked. I knew it must be he.
I curtsied briefly. “I thank you for the invitation, sir knight, but I have no skill with such instruments as these.”
The smile that quirked his lips told me that he would not let me go. Would that I could look away. He took a step or two closer. “Pray, then, with what instruments are you skilled?”
I showed him my teeth, a wicked grin. “Thumbscrews.”
The clamor of voices had quieted during our exchange. While many of the men still spoke to one another or tuned their instruments, several had diverted their attention to Sir William and me, their eyes keen with interest.
“Those will make a man sing indeed,” he said, his smile broadening. “Go and fetch them.”
“Gladly, if I may apply them to you.”
A man choked back a laugh. Sir William did not even bother to glance at him. He held out his hands toward me, thumbs pointing up. “I offer myself to your use.”
Against my will, I took a few more steps into the hall. We stood apart only a little distance, perhaps two of the large square stones on the floor, the height of a tall man. His eyes challenged me, his smile taunted me. He waggled his thumbs in my direction. Behind him, some of the men, including our beautiful Master Cameron, were laughing behind their hands.
My skin went cold and then hot all over. He had ambushed me, exposing me in front of all the others, something I was accustomed to but had not expected after our conversation this morning in the corner on the bench.
I gritted my teeth, breathing hard, fists clenched at my side. “What will you sing for me, when I put you to the question?”
He bowed deeply, as he had when we first met in the street. “What you will. I would be your devoted subject.”
Mockery. It could only be. He was toying with me for the amusement of the crowd. “Methinks you would be my sovereign and ply the screws to me.”
His head jerked up and his eyes met mine, bright with mischief.
Blue. His eyes were blue. Blue like still water, blue that sparkled like rain on glass. Oh heavens, oh Lord above, stop my thoughts.
The listening men gave up the pretense of preoccupation and burst out in open guffaws. The clever drummer rolled a tattoo. Sir William opened his mouth to reply, but Blanche cut him off. “What is the subject of which you speak?”
Ah, poor Blanche. Too long had attention been paid to someone other than herself.
“The subject of subjects, mistress,” replied Sir William, turning toward her.
My skin cooled as though the sun had gone behind a cloud, and my heartbeat slowed. I drew a deep breath.
“Shall we not play, Sir William?” called one of the young men, cradling a pipe in his lap. He was John Everheart, young and poor and pockmarked, and he would never have been admitted into Blanche’s presence had it not been for this general gathering. By the broad smile on his face, he was enjoying himself immensely, despite his lack of prospects.
“Of course, lad.” Sir William turned back to me. “Mistress, i’faith, will you not join us?”
The sun had returned. My skin flushed hot once again, and yet we were not arguing. I could not account for the sensation. “Nay, sir, I shall not.”
Two or three of the players commenced a tune; someone began to sing. Blanche clapped in delight.
Sir William bowed to me—a simple, unadorned bow this time, nothing mocking in it that I could discern—and returned to the others.
My heart sank. I could have joined, but to what end? None of them truly wanted me there. The knight might have asked me to stay, but he was only mocking me, after all.
Thumbscrews. Ha!
I went to the front doors and nearly did it, I almost charged out of the house to find my father. But truly, was it conceivable that he had no knowledge of this merry gathering? Would he love me better for destroying it? For interrupting Blanche’s amusement and her enjoyment of her suitors? In the end, I made no further effort to disrupt their foolish little concert. Rather, I went up the stairs, my feet dragging like anchors, unwilling to leave but unable to return.
At the first landing, I sat, elbows on knees, chin in hands, and listened.
They played a few songs together, ballads and drinking songs that the whole company knew. Blanche clapped and laughed merrily, her voice like a silver bell in the midst of all that masculinity. I put my head down on my knees. Me, they laughed at; her, they tried to make laugh. What was it that made us so different? At what point had our paths so far diverged?
With a sigh, I stood and tried to convince myself there was somethin
g terribly important I needed to do in my room. And yet, my feet remained rooted to the spot.
Someone strummed a familiar tune and I closed my eyes. A pleasant masculine voice began to sing.
My stomach leaped, recognizing the voice before my ears did. The one I had not realized I had been listening for.
But the words he sang were not the ones I knew for this tune. These were different.
“A bachelor have I been long, and had no mind to marry,
But now I find it did me wrong that I so long did tarry.
Therefore I will a-wooing ride, there’s many married younger.
Where shall I go to seek a bride? I’ll lie alone no longer.”
Laughter and scattered applause swallowed up the chords of the lute that transitioned to the next verse. “To Whitelock!” someone called out, followed by more laughter. My body went rigid.
I could hear the smile in his voice as he continued:
“O Fate, send me a handsome lass that I can fancy well.
Her portion I’ll not greatly pass though money hears the bell.
Love nowadays with gold is bought, but I’m no money-monger.
Give me a wife, though she’s worth nought: I’ll lie alone no longer.”
Above the general amusement, one of the fellows called out: “Oh, I think you’ll find the portion is fairer than the lady in this house.” My cheeks flared hot and my fists curled tight, bunching around my skirts.
“Why, Master Hardinge,” Blanche said, her voice all teasing pout, “how can you say such a thing?”
“A thousand pardons, Mistress Blanche,” the man replied. “You know I meant no slight to your fair self.”
“Of course not,” she purred.
A few strums of the strings, and the knight continued to sing:
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