by June Francis
It was the following morning and Gawain had slept little due to spending too much time thinking of Beth and whether she was capable of murder and arguing with himself that was nonsense. She was obviously not herself at the moment after the terrible shock she had received and had behaved stupidly and out of character. His thoughts had veered between giving her a good spanking and taking her into his bed and making love to her, which proved that he was capable of thinking and behaving just as foolishly as she, as well. Due to the shock he had received on reading Mary’s missive, no doubt. But he did not want to dwell on that right now when there was a murderer on the loose. Beth must stay here when he eventually travelled to London. In the meantime he would entrust Sam to take a message to the Llewellyns’ man of business. He only hoped that when he did leave Beth alone, her curiosity about people did not mean she would go prying into his business or that of his neighbours.
He dressed practically in brown hose, plain grey shirt and a brown, unadorned, broadcloth doublet, clothes that were very different from those he wore when he attended court. Later that morning he would visit the boatyard. He left his bedchamber and went downstairs and found not only Catherine sitting at table, but also Beth. He noticed that she was wearing the same blue gown that she had worn yesterday, but she had dispensed with the headdress and was wearing a simple black kerchief over her hair. She looked demure and far removed from the angry shrew she could be likened to yesterday. Boiled in oil, stung by bees! he thought, and his lips twitched. He found himself remembering how she had not struggled when he had kissed her in France. Had she perhaps enjoyed it? No, he must not consider for a moment that she might have done so, despite her knowing it was wrong with him being a married man. Better to believe that she had not struggled because he had taken her by surprise.
A serving man was hovering and Gawain asked him to bring collops of bacon and bread, as well as a tankard of ale. He was aware of Beth’s eyes on him and wondered if she was bubbling with resentment beneath that demure exterior. As soon as the serving man departed, Gawain turned his full attention on her. ‘You slept well, Mistress Llewellyn?’ he asked.
‘Surprisingly well in the circumstances,’ she responded.
‘I am relieved to hear it. No bad dreams?’
She smiled sweetly. ‘Normally if my dreams are so vivid and frightening that they wake me, then I write them down. As I did not write anything last night, then I mustn’t have dreamed, must I?’
Gawain guessed that she had dreamt and she was still annoyed with him. But before he could comment, Catherine leaned forwards and said, ‘I do believe dreams have meaning and it is God’s way of trying to tell us something. Do you remember in the Old Testament how Joseph was able to interpret dreams?’
‘Indeed, I do, his story is one of my favourites,’ said Beth. ‘That is why it is so important to make a note of dreams.’
‘If you do not have the means to do so, there are writing implements here in the hall,’ said Catherine. ‘Although I deem we will soon run short of paper.’
‘Will they have supplies in Tenderden?’ asked Beth.
‘Certainly.’ Catherine gazed at Gawain. ‘Will you be going to the boatyard today? If so, then perhaps you can take Mistress Llewellyn with you.’
‘Please, call me Beth. Mistress Llewellyn is such a mouthful,’ said Beth.
Catherine smiled. ‘If that is what you wish, then I will be pleased to do so.’
Gawain had not expected the two women to become friendly so soon and thought it possible that they could be sharing secrets in no time at all. He must have a few words with his aunt. The last thing he wanted was Catherine falling victim to Beth’s charm and inquisitive nature. He would need to separate the two and so would begin by doing as his aunt suggested.
‘I am willing to take Mistress Llewellyn with me this morning as I am sure she will find it interesting taking a look at the boatyard, as well as having a stroll around the village.’
‘You must have a look at the churches, Beth,’ said Catherine. ‘They are both fine in their different ways.’
‘If there is aught you wish for me to fetch for you, Aunt Catherine, then let me have a list,’ said Gawain.
‘I will waste no time doing so,’ said Catherine, rising from the table and excusing herself.
Beth was about to follow her when Gawain indicated that she should sit down. After the barest hesitation she did so and gazed at him warily. But before he could speak the serving man returned with his breakfast and set it before him. ‘Perhaps what you have to say to me can wait until after you’ve eaten,’ she said hastily, rising again.
But Gawain waved her down. ‘I won’t keep you long because I have every intention of setting out shortly. I give you credit for being cleverer than I deemed you to be, but don’t attempt to win my aunt to your side so you can conspire with her to get your own way.’
Her eyes flared, but she did not pretend to not know to what he alluded. ‘I need to write, even if no one else is to read what I have written,’ she said in a low voice.
‘For your eyes only,’ he said drily.
‘Indeed.’ She hesitated before adding in a stiff little voice, ‘I must beg pardon for my rudeness to you yesterday. You were right. I know little about you.’
She had surprised him and he found himself saying, ‘I accept your apology. I would like to ask where you would hide your scribblings if you did not want anyone to find them?’
A tiny laugh escaped her. ‘Do you take me for a fool?’
‘No. I give you my word that I will not read anything you write without your permission. I cannot say fairer than that,’ he said, taking up his knife.
How could she believe him when he had already done exactly that? ‘Allow me time to consider your question.’
‘Certainly.’
She hesitated. ‘Does this conversation mean that you will return my writing implements to me?’
‘There is little point. You need new writing implements, more ink and, of course, paper,’ replied Gawain, thinking that perhaps it would be a mistake to try to prevent her from writing altogether. ‘You will need to visit the stationer’s in Tenderden. You have coin?’
‘Enough,’ she said, wondering if his manner was genuine.
‘Then I will meet you in front of the house within the hour,’ he said. ‘And bring a cloak with you. It can be chilly down by the river and it’s possible we’re in for a change of weather.’
‘I appreciate the warning,’ said Beth, flashing him a smile as she hurried out.
Gawain thought that when she smiled at him so delightfully, he really did want to kiss her again. He could almost feel her soft lips beneath his and scowled; he must not allow himself to be tempted to ravage them again or he just might find himself featuring in that news sheet of hers in the guise of a rogue in a dramatic tale.
Beth stood outside the front of the house, gazing up at the white clouds that moved like sailing ships blown by the wind against an expanse of deep blue sky. Despite the mixed emotions she felt every time she thought of her father and Jonathan, she looked forward to the outing. At the moment it did not look the least bit like rain, but she was no weather seer and could only hope Sir Gawain was mistaken.
She did not have long to wait before he appeared, riding a horse and leading another. He dismounted, helped her into the saddle and then led the way along the path towards the main highway. Living in London, Beth scarcely ever rode a horse and would have much preferred to ride pillion behind him, but pride prevented her from admitting her lack of horsemanship and she could only pray that he would not urge his horse into a gallop and expect her to keep up with him.
Fortunately there was no need for her to worry; he kept to a steady trot because as they approached Tenderden, the traffic on the road increased. He told her that they would not stop there now, but would do so on the return journey, weather permitting. As they drew nearer to Smallhythe, Beth thought she could smell the sea, although they were some distance fr
om it. She followed him closely as they made their way through the narrow streets until he called a halt.
Gawain was in the act of helping her to dismount when a voice hailed him. He turned to face a stocky young man with a shock of reddish-brown hair and a broad flat face with a snub nose. ‘James, it is good to see you,’ said Gawain, taking the young man’s hand and shaking it. ‘Fare you well?’
‘Very well, thank you, Sir Gawain,’ said James, grinning. ‘Mildred and I are to be married and we would be honoured if you and Mary would come to the wedding.’
After the barest hesitation, Gawain asked, ‘When is the ceremony to be?’
‘Not until the beginning of August when my elder brother, Hugh, hopes to be able to preside at the ceremony,’ replied James.
‘I saw Father Hugh briefly a few days ago,’ said Gawain. ‘I remembered when he was in charge of your family shipyard that he was a regular visitor to Raventon Hall, but after my father died, everything changed.’
‘Aye, I remember it well,’ said James, stroking his chin. ‘Hugh was deeply upset by his death. I was only apprenticed at the time, but he decided then to train me to take over his position so he could join the priesthood. We see him rarely these days. He has become so grand now he is in Cardinal Wolsey’s employ and spends most of his time at York Place in London, although, as you know, he is in France at the moment.’
James glanced at Beth admiringly. She had wandered off whilst the two men were talking. ‘May I ask who is that young woman?’
‘She is my ward,’ said Gawain, frowning. ‘I am burdened with the task of finding a husband for her.’
‘‘Tis a pity I am already spoken for,’ said James, his eyes twinkling. ‘But your task should not be too arduous. She has lovely features and a comely figure. What is her fortune and is she biddable?’
‘Her fortune is adequate and she took her mother’s place in organising her father’s household several years ago,’ replied Gawain. ‘As for her being biddable, I have no complaints on that score so far,’ he lied smoothly.
James nodded thoughtfully. ‘If you are of a mind to, then you must bring her to the wedding. There is likely to be a choice of possible suitors amongst the guests.’
‘I will consider it,’ said Gawain. ‘I must go now, James. I have much to do.’
They shook hands again.
‘I will let you know the exact date of the wedding. I trust Mary will have returned by then,’ said James. ‘Your aunt, of course, is also welcome. My mother always enjoys her company.’
Gawain thanked him, even as he was thinking how best to avoid attending a wedding where he would have to make excuses for Mary’s absence again. He was gripped by frustrated rage at being trapped in a situation not of his making and from which there seemed no easy escape. Fortunately most of his neighbours had no real notion of how long Mary and the children had been away, but if he were to attend this happy occasion and she were not there, questions were bound to be asked.
He turned to Beth as she approached. Her cheeks were flushed prettily with the sharp breeze but she was shivering slightly and had her light summer cloak wrapped closely around her. He frowned. ‘You are cold?’
‘A little chilly.’
‘Then let us go inside the yard. You can take shelter in one of the workshops or, better still, the smithy,’ he said, pushing open a gate and leading both the horses inside.
‘So you and your wife are invited to a wedding,’ murmured Beth.
‘You overheard,’ said Gawain sharply.
‘He had a loud voice,’ she said hastily. ‘I was not eavesdropping.’
‘Really?’ His voice was dry.
Beth’s lips tightened and she glanced about her, deciding to ignore his question. Instead, she thought that this yard was where Jonathan’s small boat had been built. What had brought him here when there were boatyards nearer to where they lived? She breathed in the scent of wood and the strong pungent odour of pitch, noticing the hull of a boat on wooden stocks and several men at work on it. There were others in the yard, obviously absorbed in a variety of tasks. Could one of them be responsible for what had happened to Jonathan’s boat? But if so, why?
She was roused from her reverie by Gawain’s voice. ‘Did you hear James extend an invitation to you and Aunt Catherine?’
‘Aye,’ replied Beth, ‘but I cannot see how I can accept.’
He met her eyes. ‘I see no reason why the two of you should not attend.’
‘But I will be in London surely by then. Besides, I am in mourning.’
‘I am sure your father would be in favour of your attending such an event as there could be one or two there who might make you a suitable husband,’ he said.
‘You really do want to get rid of me as soon as possible, don’t you?’ she blurted out. ‘Well, the day can’t come quickly enough for me, either. But you could save yourself time and trouble if only you would accept that I am capable of running my own business.’
He wondered if he was imagining the hurt in her lovely eyes. ‘It makes sense that we make the most of every opportunity to find the right husband for you and to give you both time to get to know each other,’ he said. ‘The man you saw is James Tyler, who owns the shipyard just a little farther along the river to this one. Few shipwrights are wealthy, but he is and has many rich friends who will be invited to the wedding and in the market for a wife.’
‘You mean those connected with shipbuilding, suppliers, prospective buyers, merchants, mariners,’ said Beth hotly. ‘What use will they be to me and my business?’
Gawain shrugged. ‘If we were to sell the business—’
‘I will not agree to sell it. I would like to return home before the wedding, so it is unlikely I will be able to attend,’ she said firmly. ‘Father, Jonathan and I always attended Bartholomew Fair in August and I intend to do so this year,’ she said.
‘You will not be returning to London until I am convinced it is safe for you to do so,’ said Gawain heatedly. ‘And now I am being signalled, so must leave you for a while. The smithy is only a temporary building, but it is the one to your right. You might find it interesting to visit. We will talk of the fair later.’
She fought to hold on to her temper and show interest. ‘All right, I agree. Now tell me—what is a smith doing here?’
‘He is making nails and an anchor. Now I must go.’ He left her alone.
Beth walked over to the smithy and went inside, convinced Gawain would prevent her from going to the fair just to assert his will over her. She felt cold and was glad of the warmth inside the smithy, holding her hands out to the fire glowing in a brazier. She stood to one side away from the giant of a man with a gleaming bald head and arms like hams. Except for one brief glance her way, he ignored her as he hammered metal into shape. She did not linger long and next visited a workshop filled with clay pots and a variety of tools where she noticed a considerable number of items she couldn’t name. One of the men told her they were augers, used for drilling holes for the clench nails to go through when nailing planks together. She was struck by how easy it would be to take one and sabotage a vessel. She wondered if Gawain had already thought of it and questioned the men. Most likely he had done so. She decided to explore the port to see if this, too, had a stationer’s, but she could not find one and to her disappointment had to return to the yard, empty-handed. Still, there was always the town up the hill.
On the return journey beneath a louring sky, Beth asked Gawain whether he believed it was an auger from his yard that had drilled the holes in Jonathan’s boat. ‘Possibly, but there is no way of knowing for certain,’ he answered. ‘As you will have noticed, they are in plentiful supply because a ship requires many nails to hold it together and the auger is soon damaged.’
‘You do not suspect any of the men at the yard?’
He shook his head. ‘None of those that are there today, but labourers come and go and not all who have worked here in the past dwell in this area and not all their n
ames are written down.’
She was taken aback. ‘So someone could have worked in the yard, damaged Jonathan’s boat and then just left?’
‘Aye, it is possible Jonathan’s murderer is a common labourer who was paid to hole your half-brother’s boat after he sailed it back to London,’ said Gawain.
Filled with dismay, she burst out, ‘This is hopeless! We’ll never find him.’
‘We still have the dagger that killed your father and Sam’s conviction that he has seen it before, so you must not lose hope,’ said Gawain, deciding it would be best to change the subject. ‘You mentioned Bartholomew Fair. I agree with you that it is not to be missed. It is a great event for the cloth trade, as well as being a pleasure fair that draws the crowds from all layers of society, including those spinners and weavers in Tenderden.’
‘I have seen the Guild of Merchant Taylors process to the cloth fair to test the measures for cloth,’ said Beth excitedly.
‘People come from far and wide to buy Kentish broadcloth.’
‘So you will not prevent me going to the Fair?’ she said eagerly.
‘No, but whether we will stay for the full two weeks depends on several factors,’ said Gawain.
‘I know,’ said Beth, sighing. ‘The date of your friend’s wedding and whether your wife will have returned by then.’
‘That would not prevent me from attending the fair,’ said Gawain, thinking how easy it was to deceive people, although such deceit could not go on for ever. ‘Anyway, as the wedding is likely to be at the beginning of August and the fair does not open until the twenty-fourth, you can attend both events.’
Beth’s spirits, which had lifted at the thought of attending the fair, plummeted, but she told herself most likely that was due to the thought that this would be the first time she would be there without her father or Jonathan. She felt a tightness in her throat and tears pricked her eyes. ‘Are you still intent on selling my father’s business?’ she asked in a husky voice. ‘If so, then I have a suggestion to make. Could it not simply be moved elsewhere? To Aldersgate or Cripplegate to the north of London, for instance. There are several other such businesses in those areas.’
