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‘You seem very preoccupied, Mette.’ Geoffrey and I were sharing a jug of wine in the hall at his London house late in the afternoon of the following day. ‘Have you something on your mind?’
The house was quiet, only the sound of preparations for the evening meal permeated from beyond the hall screen where Geoffrey’s faithful old servant Jem was tapping a new cask. On past visits I had been used to the sound of girls’ voices floating down the stairs from the rooms above, exchanging snippets of conversation or singing the latest popular ditty picked up in the market place, plus the occasional flap of cloth as they folded linen or shook bedding. Now that both Anne and Mildy were employed in Catherine’s household, the upstairs rooms were silent.
‘Actually, I was thinking you must miss the girls.’
‘Oh yes I do, very much. I may be too doting a father, but I have always enjoyed their company. However now they have an opportunity to broaden their horizons and so I must suffer a little loneliness.’ He raised his glass to me with a rueful smile. I could tell that he had visited the barber’s shop that morning because his cheeks were smooth but his linen coif and chemise looked rather rumpled and even frayed. I decided it was more than just loneliness he suffered due to the absence of women in his house.
‘Queen Catherine is lucky to have their company,’ I said, returning his salute. ‘They are bright and amusing and full of ideas for her entertainment. The other day they organised a picnic and treasure hunt on the river bank and the whole household joined in. Mildy had painted faces on ducks’ eggs and everyone had to find their own portraits. Some were good likenesses and some were caricatures. Several of them were really funny.’
‘Not the queen’s, I hope? Mildy can go too far sometimes.’
‘No, the queen’s was very pretty and she had dressed it with a jewelled headdress and veil. She is a clever girl your Mildy.’ I took another sip of wine for courage before adding, ‘I had a very interesting talk with her only recently.’
His bushy eyebrows rose gently. ‘Indeed. May one ask what about?’
I hoped I had managed to control my impulse to blush. ‘Yes. It was about what she rather sweetly called our “romance”.’
The light was dim in the hall as evening approached; the candles had not yet been lit, but I was certain that his ruddy cheeks deepened in colour. ‘Did she indeed? I told you she could go too far sometimes. What did you say to her?’
‘I said I had never heard our friendship called that.’ In the pause that followed, our eyes met. I took a deep breath. ‘But I confess I liked the sound of it.’
He set his cup down on the table beside us and leaned forward so that his elbows rested on his knees. He was so close to me now I could see that his eyes were bright-grey irises flecked with brown, smile lines radiating from the outer corners. ‘I am glad to hear that because I have been afraid that your regard for me might have cooled. There has been little opportunity for private conversation lately.’
‘There has been little opportunity for anything private,’ I said ruefully.
‘You have spent too much of your life putting Queen Catherine first, Mette.’ He reached out and took both of my hands in his. ‘Now that she has settled on her future path, do you not think it might be time to choose your own?’
Suddenly Geoffrey was down on one knee before me, still clasping my hands in his and saying words I absurdly found quite startling. ‘My beloved Guillaumette, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’
Although I had anticipated the question, when it came I still had no idea how to reply. Besides my heart was racing so fast it was impossible to form coherent thoughts. He must have taken my silence for tacit consent because he hurried on as if anxious to allay any fears I might have. ‘At first I thought you would not marry for the queen’s sake, but now we are both members of her household you do not need to leave her service. I do not expect you to live here permanently with me and I think you may be more comfortable sharing your chamber at Hadham as a married couple.’ He grinned up at me, boyishly pleased with his analysis. ‘If marriage is so important to your mistress, then I suspect it must be important to you. I do hope I am right, for I dearly want you to say yes.’
I shook my head in an effort to clear my mind and he must have thought I was going to say no, for his face crumpled into dejection and as it did so I knew immediately what I wanted to say but failed to express it plainly. ‘Oh no, I mean no, do not think that my answer is no because it is not. I am not doing this very well but I have never received a proposal of marriage before. If you are sure, I would be honoured and delighted to be your wife, Geoffrey.’
At that he leaped to his feet like a man twenty years younger, pulled me to mine and then his arms were tight round me and I was enveloped in an embrace and subjected to a kiss which together took away all the breath I had managed to recover. It did not seem to take away his however.
‘If I am sure – she says! Mette, my dear, my beloved, of course I am sure. I have long been sure. Probably ever since we survived the storm together on the Hilda Maria. I thought at the height of it that it would be a terrible shame that we might die and I would not have told you how I felt about you.’
I found myself laughing now. ‘But that was years ago! Why have you never done so before this?’
He gave me a rueful grin. ‘Something always seemed to get in the way. Your daughter needed you, then the king died and you could not desert the queen and then I had my own troubles with Anne and Thomas and did not want to burden you with that and then I had to work in Rouen for so long – oh all manner of things conspired to prevent it!’
He threw his arms around me again and this time we kissed like lovers, long and sweet and hot and I felt as if, instead of blood, warm honey was streaming through my body. It was a sensation I dimly remembered from kisses shared with my Jean-Michel, but I had forgotten how all-consuming it could be and how flustered a customarily sensible female could become.
When we parted I was trembling and Geoffrey was jubilant. ‘You said yes, did you not, Mette? I am not dreaming, am I? We are to be married. We must celebrate. Where is Jem with that new wine and where is that wandering son of mine? Walter! Are you in the house?’ He strode to the open door of the hall and leaned out, calling into the staircase beyond. ‘Jem! Walter!’
After delivering me to Tun Lane, Walter had taken some quick refreshment and then gone off on business of his own, but he had obviously returned because he came leaping up the stairs from Geoffrey’s legal chambers on the ground floor. When he heard the news he shyly kissed my cheek and said how very glad he was and then Jem brought a fresh jug of wine from the new barrel and some wafers and we all made a celebratory toast. I felt as if I had consumed the entire jug myself, so flushed was I with the excitement of the moment. I became elated and agitated at the same time; elated because of Geoffrey’s obvious delight and agitated because I found it bewildering to be contemplating marriage after nearly thirteen years of celibacy.
We ate our supper in a continuing mood of celebration and I confess that, as the wine flowed, my agitation ebbed and my elation increased. It was pleasant to share a meal with two men whose company I enjoyed and find myself the centre of their attention and approbation. I had changed my travelling clothes for my formal gown of deep-green broadcloth, lined and trimmed with tawny sendal, a costume I had worn for Catherine’s wedding and packed in one of Genevieve’s saddlebags, just in case. It was somewhat crumpled from the journey, but during the evening, just as the wine soothed my unaccustomed jitters, its creases diminished. For such an intimate occasion I had left off my wimple, which normally covered my head and throat, and dressed my hair over my ears in a decorative silk net, fixed by a padded circlet of the tawny satin. My face undoubtedly bore the evidence of my years, but it was a matter of foolish pride that the streaks of grey were few in my still glossy brown locks and I hoped these were disguised by the lustrous net and the soft light of the candles. I had been grati
fied by the expression of undisguised admiration with which Geoffrey greeted me and throughout the meal I was aquiver with the secret and rather guilty physical pleasure his evident lustful longing aroused in me. I had thought these sensations long buried.
As the wine loosened Walter’s tongue, he amused us with entertaining and sometimes scurrilous observations about the various members of the Hadham household. I was grateful that discretion prevented him including Catherine in his assessment, but agog to hear that he believed there was an attraction developing between Agnes de Blagny and Hywell Vychan.
‘Hywell has taken to hanging around the dairy and stillroom where, as you know, Madame Mette, Agnes has assumed the job of supervising the new maids and often undertakes part of the preserving and cheese-making processes herself. Hywell is a quiet fellow who likes his own company as a rule, but lately he is often to be found lingering on one of the mounting blocks whittling a new chanter for his pipes or polishing his hauberk until Agnes emerges, when he just happens to make his way across the courtyard to intercept her. At first they just nodded a greeting, but now they can spend several minutes discussing such fascinating topics as the height of the sun and the quality of the day’s cream for cheese-making.’
‘These are crucial matters, Walter,’ I protested, wagging an admonitory finger at the mocking tone in which he related these observations. ‘Perhaps the two of them have more in common than you think.’
Walter’s cheerful face registered exaggerated penitence. ‘You may be right. Yesterday I heard them comparing the French and Welsh expressions for the sound of the cuckoo. Clearly the difference of their native languages is not hampering their friendship! At least they seemed to find the process amusing, for they were making strange giggling sounds.’
I felt a stab of guilt that I had not noticed this development and made a mental note to watch out for signs when I returned to Hadham. At which point I fell to thinking about how long I could stay away from the place and whether Geoffrey and I might be married before I returned. All of which brought me to contemplating whether we would wait for the sanction of marriage or anticipate it; a call which I suspected Geoffrey would say was mine to make.
In the event the decision was jointly made, or rather was not made at all but seemed naturally to happen. As we drained our cups and nibbled a final course of nuts and sweetmeats, we all became drowsy together and Geoffrey called Jem to remove the cloth and bank up the fire. The two costly wax candles which had lighted our celebration meal were burned down to a few inches.
‘You take one, Walter,’ said his father, ‘and I will light Mette to her chamber with the other.’
Walter’s raised eyebrow was met by Geoffrey with a terse jerk of the head in the direction of the door, which his son obeyed with a bow and a dutiful ‘God give you both good night’. The remaining naked flame flickered enticingly, illuminating the mutely enquiring glance that passed between us. Geoffrey held the candlestick high as he took my arm and we kissed, briefly and lovingly. ‘Come, Mette,’ he said in a low voice, ‘we have waited long enough.’
When I woke next morning, before I opened my eyes, I found myself thinking of Alys. To my astonishment, as the thought crossed my mind, I felt Geoffrey’s hand brush my hair from my face and his voice whispered in my ear, ‘After we are married, we could make a trip to Paris to visit your daughter if you like.’
I rolled over into his arms as if it was a completely natural thing for me to do and marvelled at the power of love to overcome inhibitions. There had been none the previous night as we helped each other undress and slid between the sheets, while on the chest beside the bed the candle had spluttered, sparking our own flame of passion.
I stroked his cheek and his stubble rasped against my fingers. ‘How did you know I was thinking of Alys?’
He kissed my shoulder. ‘It is an easy guess. Well, shall we go?’
‘If you can spare the time, of course I would dearly love to. She has another child now, a boy whom I have never seen. And she wanted me to marry you from the beginning.’
‘Did she? What a sensible girl she is. I have always thought so.’ He drew back the bed curtain. ‘The sun is up. Shall we break our fast and pay a visit to the priest?’
I watched him roll off the mattress and pull his chemise over his head.
‘Surely we cannot marry today,’ I protested, scrabbling at the clothes pole for my own.
He hauled up his braies and grinned at me. The skin of his belly was white and smooth and only a little paunched. For a man nearer fifty than forty, he was wearing well. ‘It is surprising what can be done in a church if you have deep enough pockets. But we may have to wait a few days. Time enough for you to make a raid on Cheapside and Threadneedle Street.’
I stepped into my serviceable everyday brown serge and turned, inviting him to lace it at the back. ‘Being a lawyer will you not want to draw up a marriage contract? After all you have not even enquired about my dower!’
He jerked hard on the laces, making me cannon back into him so that he could wrap his arms around me. ‘I am already satisfied with what you bring to me,’ he said, nosing my hair clear to press his lips to the hollow at the base of my neck. ‘Do not tell me there is gold as well?’
I pulled away, turning to eye him over my shoulder. ‘It does not behove a woman to reveal all she has to offer at once.’
He chuckled and reached for the laces again, completing the task as he declared, ‘I will tease it out of you, Madame Mette, or else the law will have to take its course.’
I tossed my head and began to dig in the saddlebag for my hairbrush. Hoyden that I had become, I had not sought it the previous night because Geoffrey had been too eager to remove my headdress and sink his fingers into my hair. I watched his fascination grow as I brushed, extending the task longer than necessary to give him pleasure. ‘Before you threaten me with the law, Master Vintner, had you not better introduce me to the priest?’
Geoffrey’s parish church was dedicated to St Mildred, about whom I knew little except that Mildy was named for her and she was a nun who had been ‘a comforter to all in affliction’ according to the inscription carved over the chancel arch. Geoffrey translated the epigram for me from the Latin as we waited for the priest to finish hearing a confession and although we were far from being ‘in affliction’, he turned out to be a pleasant and accommodating cleric, not in the least put out by a marriage request from two people old enough to be grandparents.
‘If I call the banns for three days in a row, we can slip it in before Pentecost,’ he told us cheerfully, counting on his fingers. ‘Will Friday suit you?’
Geoffrey bowed. ‘Thank you. That will serve perfectly, Father. We shall make it noon if that is agreeable to you. Nothing grand; we will have a nuptial mass and St Mildred’s will have the usual marriage fee, to which you may add this purse, if it please you.’
Thus, with an exchange of thanks and good wishes, we left St Mildred’s a significantly richer church than when we arrived.
‘And now we can visit your favourite tailors and have a new suit of clothes made for your wedding,’ Geoffrey declared when we had stepped out into the May sunshine and were making our way towards Cheapside. ‘I seem to remember that you and the queen favour a certain Master Anthony.’
I made a face. ‘Actually it was his wife Meg whose designs we favoured, but I fear the queen’s patronage may mean they are far too busy to fashion anything in the time available.’
‘On the contrary, Walter called on them yesterday and they agreed that if we came this morning, they would measure up and start tonight. They seem to feel they owe their enormous success to a certain Keeper of the Queen’s Robes.’
I stopped dead and stared at him, my head tilted in indignant enquiry. ‘Yesterday? Walter spoke to them yesterday? Before you had even asked me a certain question?’
Respected lawyer though he was, Geoffrey had the grace to look sheepish. ‘It was only a tentative enquiry,’ he blustered. ‘No as
sumptions were made.’
‘I shall have words with Master Walter. It seems he knew more that I did about why he was bringing me to London.’
People began pushing past us with muttered oaths as we blocked the narrow thoroughfare and Geoffrey took my arm to move us along. ‘A man has to consult his son about important family matters,’ he said. ‘And you may remember how happy Walter was with both his task and the result.’
I could not remain indignant for long, especially when my indignation was almost entirely pretence. ‘I do,’ I admitted. ‘I have always thought Walter kind and obliging and now I know he is greatly to be trusted for he gave me no inkling of your intention. Your children are a credit to you, Geoffrey.’
‘Thank you. And today, while you choose fabrics and trimmings, I will make arrangements to go to Paris. In favouring my children you must not neglect your own.’
Rays from the midday sun had found their way among the London rooftops to warm us as we stood in the porch at St Mildred’s just before Sext on the appointed day. I watched with growing amazement as eight horses and riders clattered into the small square and up to the church steps. Leading the cavalcade were Catherine and Owen, followed by Agnes and Mildy, Anne and Thomas Roke and at the rear, John Meredith and Hywell Vychan. Ribbons and rosettes decked their horses’ bridles and Owen and John had their musical instruments slung over their shoulders. All were dressed for a wedding, but Catherine had taken care to wear a veil and wimple in case any sharp-eyed Londoner should chance to recognise her.
‘How could I miss your wedding, Mette?’ she exclaimed as she swung down from the saddle. ‘You have witnessed two of mine!’
I was so thrilled to see her I could scarcely speak. We exchanged a hug, laughing and crying at the same time, while Walter mustered several urchins off the street to hold the horses.
The Tudor Bride Page 29