Like you did for me, I thought sadly to myself.
He grunted and slammed his fist down on his table. ‘The wench can be married as soon as the banns are called in St Gabriel’s. Since she is living in your parish, have her wed from your house, Thomas.’
Convenient for you Father, I thought, and less expense.
‘My thoughts precisely,’ said Thomas, without hesitation. ‘We shall provide her wedding feast and help them to rent a house I know of in St Swithin’s Lane. I shall lease it for them myself, and he can pay me a nominal rent. The boy is a hard worker. Father was a builder. The older brother inherited his business. The uncle is a master builder too, but for now young Williamson can learn some legal business. He reads and writes a good hand. I can employ him.’
‘The wedding can be held after Corpus Christi.’
And so my sister’s wedding was agreed. It would take place in May. My cooks would provide her feast. The apprentices would be delighted at the diversion. The maids would clean the house with vigour. Joan and her husband would lodge with us until building work was completed on the house in St Swithin’s Lane. The old building needed a scullery and buttery. John’s brother would see to the works.
My mother lamented Joan’s short betrothal. I think she wished her second daughter’s wedding could have been a large event with her many relatives, merchant friends and the Lord Mayor attending. The compensation for Joan was that she would soon afterwards move into her own house. A short betrothal and modest wedding suited the occasion, and all my sister could think about was having John to herself and her own home to arrange. We had permitted Marigold to be her personal maid and since Marigold was devoted to Joan already, the arrangement pleased my sister and the maid both.
When we had told her, Joan was delighted.
‘I promised it all would come right,’ I said.
‘He loves me and I love him, and that is what matters most,’ she said. ‘Thank you, sister.’
I felt something had happened to us, a new bond and, at last, something resembling genuine sisterhood had emerged between us. I glowed with joy as she laughed again, stitched, hemmed, and sang her happiness.
We travelled by Father’s river boat to Putney. The farmhouse was festive, hung with garlands of spring flowers.
We sat together, a joyful family, to eat dinner in Mother’s hall, Annie crawling under our feet and my sister talking excitedly about her forthcoming wedding, occasionally proudly patting her own belly, even though, she would not show her pregnancy for a few more months.
After the initial terror of her illicit pregnancy, Joan was brim-full with excitement. Everyone liked Pentecost. If they liked Pentecost they enjoyed a betrothal even more. Yet, although it was a festival we all loved, the religious holiday held a sad memory for me, because it was just after Pentecost that Tom Williams’ mother, who had been kind to me after I had come to live in her household, had died.
That long ago year, the holiday had fallen at the end of May.
As well as being a day of religious observance, Pentecost was a time of games and processions. Before joining the St Alban’s Church Ale that evening, we had all set out from Wood Street to watch the guilds’ Pentecost procession walk from St Pauls through the City streets. A crowned statue of the Virgin was carried by four men clad in draperies. Twelve guildsmen dressed as the twelve apostles followed the statue. We were especially proud that year because St Simon, the fisherman apostle, was Tom, my husband, who had been chosen to represent the Drapers’ Company.
The sky was a hazy blue suffused with soft spring sunshine, not a cloud to threaten rain. We took up a good position on the route and waited. The processing guildsmen rounded the corner and proudly came closer to us. Tom’s mother’s pale face lit up with admiration as Tom smiled on seeing his mother as the procession passed us. Richard Williams’ chest puffed out with pride as if to say, ‘See there, that man who is St Simon is my only son. Look at him.’
They had not known the truth about their son. Tom would never have frightened them by revealing it; nor could I speak of it, so I had kept the secret deep inside me though my heart ached with the weight of it.
As we stood amongst the crowds watching the procession, we had no idea on that beautiful sunny morning that Tom Williams’ mother would not live to see another day. She contracted the sweat by afternoon and died soon after the midnight Angelus.
The sweat was as frightening as the secrets I guarded, so as I sat listening to my mother and sister chatter about Whitsun and weddings and pageants, I determined to enjoy every happy moment in my life. Today’s joy may be snatched from us by the morrow in the time it takes to say a Paternoster.
‘Perhaps Ralph Sadler could be your attendant, Joan,’ I said, casting away my moment of sadness.
‘I would like that, and I can have musicians to accompany us to the Church,’ she said, joyfully relishing being the centre of attention. John Williamson looked on, his blue eyes soft with love.
‘Yes indeed. Thomas and Father will see to it.’
She touched her belly. ‘And just to think Annie will soon have a playmate.’ She looked up. ‘Lizzy, maybe you will soon be with child again too.’
Mother looked me with a hopeful gleam in her lovely eyes.
‘Well, soon, I hope,’ I said. ‘There is no great hurry.’
I did not want to conceive too quickly again. Secretly, I used an age-old method to prevent it - a cotton pessary soaked in vinegar. I dared not speak of this, because that was another heresy to add to the one of which I was already guilty.
Thomas sipped his ale and studied me, a knowing smile twitching about his mouth. ‘There is plenty of time for us to make another child, Lizzy.’
He knew and he didn’t mind.
‘Annie is enough for now.’ I scooped my daughter from the floor where she was crawling after a little black and white kitten. She teased it too hard and it lashed out and spat at her. When she began to howl, I withdrew from the company to comfort her, and seated on the cushioned settle by a fireplace over which hung one of Joan’s betrothal garlands, filled with greenery, celandines and tiny cornflowers, then fed her a little moistened cake. As Annie settled and the sweet scent of spring flowers soothingly wafted down on us, I smiled to myself, pleased with this happy outcome for my sister.
On her betrothal day, Joan looked beautiful in her rose gown, its laces incorporated into a new bodice panel, let out a little to accommodate her swelling breasts, her dark hair loose and her skin glowing, now that her first months of pregnancy had passed.
Joan’s wedding followed on the first Saturday after Corpus Christi at St Gabriel’s on Fenchurch Street. It was as happy an event as had been our own wedding of three years before. Ralph Sadler proudly carried her flowery wedding crown before her procession. As was the custom, musicians escorted her to the church with cymbals and viols. My brother’s children threw flowers at her. My father shed tears and my mother, too, mopped at her eyes with a square of linen. This time, Joan led the dancing with her husband and all that day there was nothing but praise for her and John. I don’t think I have ever seen such a happy bride since. Theirs was a true love match and I knew that I would miss her when she moved to her new home in St Swithin’s Lane, but since it was only a short distance away, I hoped we would often enjoy their company in our hall.
They shared a marriage bed in our best second bedchamber behind the parlour. Italian damask curtains hung about the bed. New linen sheets scented with lavender were laid over the feather mattress. As I escorted her to the chamber and set out wine and cakes, my eyes lit upon her cedar-wood marriage coffer which my mother had brought to us from Putney. When Joan lifted its curved lid and drew out her bridal night-gown, I saw the exquisite needlework my sister had been busily stitching. Lying on the top of the carefully folded linen lay a tiny christening garment that she had embroidered with acanthus leaves stitched in silver thread. I trailed a finger over this perfect and delicate embroidery, and, to my surprise, I found
myself longing for a brother or sister for Annie.
Joan smiled as she saw me gazing upon it. ‘It will be my first heirloom.’
‘And may you have many little ones to be christened wearing this.’ I embraced my little sister, just as Mother and Cat entered the bed chamber to help her undress.
‘God bless you, sister,’ I said softly, as moments later I tiptoed from the chamber. ‘May your future filled with joy.’
Chapter Twenty-six
1517
JOAN SETTLED INTO HER new home and her baby was born in the October of 1516. She had a healthy boy and they named him William. Thomas was growing wealthy working for the Cardinal, as a merchant and on his own lucrative legal issues. I continued to look after my household and make up sample books. Joanna returned and brought other merchants’ wives to look at these and purchase cloth. Business thrived. Annie grew into a delightful, babbling child as she approached her second birthday. I wanted another baby.
The following summer, Thomas travelled to Rome on behalf of the Boston Stump to request the renewal of their right to sell indulgences. If business was concluded quickly he thought that he could return home by the calends of September.
Before Thomas set out, I dispensed with my cotton pessary, soaked with vinegar. I wanted yet another part of him in case he never returned to me. Who knew what dangers lay on an arduous journey over the high Alps and down through the dangerous Italian kingdoms?
As we lay in our high bed on the night before he set out, he tried to set my mind at ease. ‘I’ll be travelling with Geoffrey Chambers from Antwerp. Don’t frown so, Lizzy. Geoffrey is wise and wealthy. The Boston guilds are paying dearly for our protection. We are to be escorted by guards from The Hanseatic League, same as last time.’
‘Even so I worry, my love,’ I said, rolling across our bed towards him, looking into his eyes provocatively. I thrust my hand through the slit in his nightgown and began to stroke his manhood.
He leaned over and kissed me, his ridiculous night cap falling off his freshly washed, and, that night, sweet-scented hair. Within moments he had removed my night gown and his own. My concerns for his safety on the long bandit-ridden overland route through the Alps were forgotten as if they had not existed, while the silken coverlet slid to the floor. We made love as passionately as when we had first wed.
Before I drifted into sleep in his arms, he whispered how he had wanted this adventure, his mastery of Italian necessary in their bid to persuade Pope Leo to grant the Church in Boston the right to sell indulgences, even if his own judgement of religion was unlikely to impress the Holy Father.
He added drowsily, ‘My sweet, the truth of it all is that I must see what the artist Michelangelo has done in the Sistine Chapel. He had only begun the work when I was last in Rome. I might even see Pope Leo’s private apartments this time. Raphael will have painted those by now and I might view his frescos.’
Thomas admired all things Italian. Yet, though he admired beauty in finely made objects, tapestries and in paintings, he would say that I was his own great beauty, his grande bellezza, his silver-haired mermaid who slid in and out of his arms like a creature of the sea as slippery as our green satin cover, casting enchantments.
I sat straight up. ‘Thomas how can I stop you from going? I can’t. It is your heart’s desire, but take great care. Once they have the indulgences granted, promise, swear to me that you will return. If you don’t come home before Christmastide, you could be trapped on the other side of the Alps by snowfalls and avalanches until spring.’
He raised himself and leaned against the pillows. ‘I promise, my love. I shall send you letters with merchants travelling to England.’ He held my face in his hands, which though plump were soft and gentle and as white as a pigeon’s breast. ‘Elizabeth, watch over my business during my absence. You must send me word of any disaster. And, make sure that Ralph attends to his lessons.’ He removed his hands. ‘Time will hurry by us. It always does, especially in summer when you are busy brewing ale, making simples, creating jellied fruits.’ He folded his hands on the cover. ‘Ah now, jellies, well that gives me an idea.’
‘What is it?’
‘I must beg some of those jellied fruits you made last week to take with me to Italy. Send me a box to Antwerp.’ He hugged me close.
I wriggled from his embrace and looked down on him. Of course, he must take all the jellied fruits I had so carefully made, comfits for his long journey, and I said so. Meg would pack the sweets carefully in a small wooden casket for him. I thought of Thomas enjoying them, licking the sugar from them, remembering his wife who concocted such delights. And, my heart filled with pride, too, that he trusted me to safe guard his affairs during his absence. Tears gathered behind my eye but I blinked them away. ‘Anything else, Thomas, which you wish me to take care of while you are away?’
He pulled me down into his arms and kissed me, a long deep kiss that would be our last kiss for many months. ‘Yourself, my love. I have set a guard on our house. A scar-faced wretch will never threaten you,’
I still had occasional nightmares though Thomas had questioned Wilfrid and Barnaby and was convinced they were wrong about Master Watt’s servant. However, he knew that my suspicions of the servant never totally left me. The servant did wear a crucifix and he was deeply religious, but he was not, Thomas had decided, the man who had attacked my Wood Street home. His scar was a war wound.
Thomas had placed guards for another more ordinary reason. The City was a dangerous one filled with jealousies and evil-doers. He wanted to ensure my safety. ‘Be aware, Elizabeth, that there will be those who are not our friends, even though they may profess friendship. Trust family and proven friends only. Ask Cat or your mother to stay from time to time. That is all.’ His grey eyes were earnest, so I nodded. I had felt foolish for listening to the apprentices’ speculations. ‘Come here, my sweeting, for I want to savour your beauty one last time. When I am travelling through the Alps, I want remember you as you are tonight. Remember this always, I love you well, my Elizabeth.’
‘And I thee.’
We made love again and fell asleep in each other’s arms exhausted by our love making, and on that night, we conceived our second daughter.
Thomas had gone by the time I awoke the following day. Annie climbed into the place beside me that was still warm from where Thomas had lain.
‘Papa gone,’ she said.
‘Yes, but he will return,’ I replied, gathering her to me, enjoying the fresh smell of her nightgown and the camomile scent of hair that was as pale as my own.
The following day I organised the casket of jellied fruits and asked that John Williamson find a courier to deliver them to Antwerp. It was done with such efficiency and speed, that I thought they would reach the port before my husband.
***
By August I knew I was pregnant. I had twice missed my courses and was constantly tired. Since Thomas had left me to watch over things, I checked our accounts and, setting aside my exhaustion, visited Father concerning our mutual cloth interests. On one of my visits to Cornhill he asked me if I would oversee a batch of fabrics that had to be examined at the Drapers’ Guildhall for imperfections before he could price it up for the foreign markets. He could not attend the Hall himself because he was off to Oxfordshire to purchase cloth near a village called Filkin.
‘Good weave and good price,’ he said. ‘We cannot miss out on it.’
I agreed, and looked forward to being a cloth merchant once again.
‘How long will you be away, Father?’
‘September. Maybe October. Can you manage without both myself and Thomas?’
‘I have Smith and the apprentices.’
‘Good, you are a sharp businesswoman, Lizzy. That husband has taught you a thing or two. He may be ruthless but he is clever and he is devoted to his family, as he should be.’
I smiled at Father’s praise for us both. Too little, too late, I thought to myself, but said nothing.
When
the day arrived for my attendance at the Drapers’ Guildhall, Cat Williams arrived in the courtyard, saying that she would keep me company. She had brought her daughter with her, another Catherine, of a similar age to Annie. The child’s pert nursemaid followed her in from the stable yard, her nose held high and her eyes watchful. A servant boy carried a large leather travelling coffer and their bundles.
‘Put the luggage in the chamber beside the parlour,’ I said to him.
If only they had sent a messenger forward to warn me of their visit, I could have delayed them by a day. Meg, a little flustered at the sudden visit, hurried into the parlour with fresh linen and an ewer of water for the visitors to wash after their journey. I sent the servant boy to make himself useful to cook in the kitchen.
I led Cat into her chamber. ‘Cat, forgive my rush today but I must see to business at the Draper’s Hall,’ I said. ‘Make yourself comfortable and we can have a long talk over supper.’ I patted little Catherine’s head. ‘Annie will be so pleased to have a playmate. Smith and my apprentices are waiting for me in the yard.’
Cat pulled out two jars of pickled cucumbers from her luggage and presented them to me. ‘I brought you these.’
I had confided my pregnancy to her a month before and she knew I enjoyed pickles. I stood awkwardly holding the two jars.
She smiled serenely. ‘Why don’t I come with you today?’ she asked; her grey eyes were lit up at the thought of an adventure.
‘Oh Cat, no, you would hate it, and the City is filthy. It is September and it’s hot and smelly.’
‘I like it, I mean the City, not the smells.’ Though she wrinkled her nose, I recognised her determined look. I would have to give in or be further delayed.
I shook my head. ‘Not wise.’
She smiled again at that and lifted her cloak from the bed where she had thrown it down. She knew she had won.
Resigned, I said, ‘If you insist. Let me send the children into the garden with their nurses first.’
The Woman in the Shadows: Tudor England through the eyes of an influential woman Page 20