The Unconventional Maiden

by June Francis

  Gawain winced and rubbed his side and forced his eyes open. He blinked up at Beth and then slowly moved away from her. ‘I beg your pardon.’

  ‘You are obviously more weary than you realised,’ said Beth, her cheeks rosy. ‘I’ll leave you now and keep your aunt in conversation, so you have time to gather your wits.’ She hurried away.

  Gawain stretched, knowing he had not behaved chivalrously by pretending to be asleep instead of in that state betwixt waking and sleeping where one can hear, but the body is so relaxed that it refuses to respond to stimulus. He thought about Beth’s words and asked himself what magic was it, indeed, that drew a person to someone? She obviously had someone in mind. Perhaps it was him? She had not pulled away from him when he had rested against her. What could he read into that? Perhaps she was as attracted to him as he was to her despite their mutual suspicion of each other.

  What else had she said earlier? The only way to be sure of knowing someone was to live with them. He could have told her that you could live with someone for years and think you knew them, but you didn’t. He rose and followed the voices and hailed his aunt. Catherine’s face lit up at the sight of him, for she had been out visiting when he had arrived home. Beth excused herself and taking Jane with her, left aunt and nephew to catch up on each other’s news.

  Later that day over supper Catherine brought up the subject of what she was thinking of wearing for the occasion and mentioned what gift they should take for the bridal pair, as well as the small cakes that it was customary for guests to give for the wedding feast.

  ‘I have never been to a wedding,’ said Beth, smiling at them both. ‘I will wear my dark blue gown,’ she announced. ‘Tell me about these cakes, Mistress Catherine.’

  ‘They will be piled high and the bridal couple must try to kiss over them without their toppling them if they are to have luck and prosperity.’

  ‘That sounds as if it could be fun,’ said Beth.

  ‘It is because all couples setting out together along the marital path need all the luck they can get,’ said Catherine, glancing at her nephew. ‘Is that not true, Gawain?’

  Beth saw him frown and, without a word, he left the table.

  ‘You must excuse him,’ said Catherine hastily. ‘He is weary after being away so long.’

  Beth wondered if that was really the reason for his sudden departure, or his aunt’s pointed question. Perhaps Gawain’s marriage really was not a happy one. ‘Were you at his wedding?’ she asked of Catherine.

  ‘Of course, and Mary was a lovely bride. Eighteen he was and the match arranged by her father, Master Marston, and Sir Ralph, his guardian.’

  ‘And did they manage to kiss over the cakes?’ asked Beth.

  ‘One would have thought it an easy matter to do so with my nephew being so tall, but as he reached across and lifted her up, her elbow caught a cake that was jutting out and several toppled on to the tablecloth. He claimed that he would make his own luck and prosperity and not leave it to superstition.’ Catherine glanced guiltily in the direction of the door. ‘Do not mention this to my nephew. He will say that I have allowed my tongue to chatter on far too much.’

  Beth promised that not a word would escape her lips and finished her supper. At least when James and Matilda’s wedding was over, she could look forward to attending Bartholomew Fair and returning to her own home for a while.

  ‘Here, Beth, shower the bride and groom with these,’ said Catherine, thrusting a handful of seeds at her, ‘and let us pray that their marriage really will be fruitful.’

  ‘Have you enough?’ asked Beth, taking the seeds from her.

  ‘Aye, come before they leave the churchyard and lead the procession to the house.’

  Beth hurried over to the smiling couple. The bride wore a blue gown, a popular colour for weddings as it symbolised purity. Her flaxen hair hung down her back and on her head she wore a floral wreath consisting of gilly flowers, marigolds, lavender, thyme and rosemary. In her hand, she clutched a posy of the same flowers and herbs. Beth soon realised that she and Catherine were not the only ones showering the bride and groom with seeds, which no doubt the birds would swoop on if they did not lodge in the clothing or hair of the bridal couple.

  Beth stepped back to allow James and Mildred to make their way out of the church grounds and, as she did so, became aware that she was being watched by a small group of men, consisting of Gawain, another man of a similar age, an elderly man and the priest who had presided over the service. She could hear the latter’s melodious voice wafting towards her on the breeze, asking whether the young woman wearing the dark blue gown was Mistress Elizabeth Llewellyn and remembered how she had thought in the church that he looked vaguely familiar. She did not hear Gawain’s reply because Catherine took her arm and they joined the bridal procession.

  It was not until later, after Beth had eaten her fill and wandered out into the garden overlooking the river to escape the heat in the hall, that she was introduced to the man who had stood at her guardian’s side earlier. ‘Beth, this is Christopher Hurst, whom I have mentioned to you,’ said Gawain, surprising her by adding, ‘He wished to make your acquaintance as soon as I told him that you were the owner of a printing-and-book-selling business in London.’

  ‘It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Master Hurst,’ said Beth, gazing up into a pair of twinkling pale blue eyes.

  ‘The pleasure is all mine, Mistress Llewellyn,’ he replied, ‘because I would ask a favour of you.’

  ‘A favour?’ Beth shot a questioning glance at Gawain.

  ‘Remember my telling you that Master Hurst has two younger brothers?’ he said.

  ‘Of course,’ said Beth, wondering what was coming next.

  ‘Well, Nick is fond of travelling and managed to buy his way on to a Portuguese ship sailing to the New World,’ said Gawain. ‘He kept a journal of his travels and when I told Chris of your interest in printing such experiences and selling it in book form, it struck a chord with him.’

  Chris said, ‘It is the twenty-fifth anniversary of Nick’s birth in November and I thought it would be the ideal gift for him to see his tale in print.’

  Beth’s eyes gleamed. ‘You have captured my interest, Master Hurst. No doubt it is too much for me to expect that you have the journal with you?’

  ‘Alas, no, but I do have it at home. At the moment Nick has gone off to Venice, so I am not expecting him to return any time soon before his birthday. I could have my youngest brother, Phillip, deliver it to you at Raventon Hall. If Gawain and yourself could read it, I am certain you will find it interesting.’

  ‘I am sure I will,’ said Beth eagerly. ‘I assume this is to be a surprise for your brother Nick?’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Chris, beaming at her. ‘And you will let me know the cost of the printing, binding and what not. A vellum backing, I think.’

  Beth said, ‘Do you want just the one copy for him or do you wish for more copies for yourself and members of your family? Naturally the cost will depend on the number of copies.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Chris. ‘I am sure you will find it such an interesting tale that you might find a market for hundreds of copies.’

  ‘That is possible,’ said Beth cautiously. ‘How would your brother feel about strangers reading his journal?’

  ‘How could he not be delighted if it makes him money?’ asked Chris.

  Beth thought she could see his point, yet what if he was mistaken?

  Gawain had been watching Beth’s expression and now said, ‘We will consult you, Chris, after we have both read Nick’s journal.’

  ‘Good,’ said Chris, beaming at them both. ‘And now I had better go and find my good wife.’ He hurried off.

  Beth said hesitantly, ‘You have surprised me and I really appreciate your encouragement in allowing me to be involved in this reading and printing.’

  ‘I knew it would give you pleasure and I do not doubt your ability to judge what makes a good book,’ said Gawain.


  ‘Thank you.’ She paused, flattered by his remark and wondering whether speaking to her employees had caused him to change his mind about her abilities. But she would not pry into his reasons right now. Instead she said, ‘Master Hurst is almost more handsome than you are, Sir Gawain. Are his brothers just as handsome?’

  Gawain gazed down at her with an arrested expression in his eyes. ‘You flatter me. It is a pity Chris is not a widower—you and he might have suited as he has a most amiable nature and might have allowed you the freedom to do whatever you wished.’

  ‘Thoughtful and generous towards his brother, too,’ said Beth slowly.

  ‘Aye, I just hope Nick’s journal proves not to be a disappointment,’ said Gawain.

  Beth stared at him, surprised. ‘Why should it do so? He must be a man of courage and daring if he has sailed to the New World.’

  ‘I would not dispute that, but it is disappointing that he is not here for you to discover that by meeting him face-to-face.’

  She agreed, adding, ‘And the youngest brother?’

  ‘Another disappointment for you,’ said Gawain smoothly. ‘He could not come today as he had some task to complete. Mind you, thinking about it, Pip is far too young for you. But I have a widower who is interested in meeting you.’

  ‘Is he very old and likely to die soon and leave me a rich widow?’ asked Beth, a mischievous note in her voice.

  Gawain smiled faintly, but before he could answer there came the strains of music from inside the house and instantly she asked, ‘May we go inside and watch the dancing?’

  ‘You like dancing?’

  ‘Who does not? Although, the last time I danced was at Bartholomew Fair when my mother was alive. Then we danced in the streets to the music of the hurdy-gurdy.’

  ‘Then let us go inside,’ said Gawain, taking her hand and leading her towards the house. ‘Today is a celebration and I deem your father would rejoice in your enjoying yourself.’

  Beth’s face lit up and, impulsively, she reached up and kissed his cheek. ‘If I dance gracefully enough,’ she said with a saucy gleam in her eye, ‘then perhaps your widower will ask me to marry him.’

  ‘You are teasing me,’ said Gawain, amusement in his dark blue orbs. ‘Master Bigbury does not meet with all your requirements, so no doubt you will turn him down. He grows hops and brews beer, as well as having several fruit orchards. I deem he has passed the anniversary of his fiftieth year, but from what I know of him, he has a kindly disposition and is not parsimonious at all.’

  She paused in the doorway to a passageway that led to the hall. ‘Was he, by any chance, the aged gentleman whom I saw with you and Master Hurst and the priest outside the church?’

  ‘Aye, that is Master Bigbury,’ said Gawain. ‘Unfortunately, years spent outdoors has aged his skin, but he still has a lust for life and there is no doubt he can beget children.’

  ‘You mean he already has children?’ asked Beth, frowning.

  ‘He did indeed father several children, but unfortunately none of them survived childhood.’

  ‘Hmm! Perhaps I shouldn’t write him off too soon then,’ said Beth, thinking that Gawain was less likely to present her with another suitor if she spent some time deliberating over this one.

  ‘Good,’ said Gawain. ‘I will make you known to him.’

  As they approached the hall, their ears were assaulted by the sound of viols, recorders and bagpipe. The rhythmic sound of feet clumping on the floor shook the building. There was a hum of voices, as well as those raised in song. It struck Beth that everyone appeared to be enjoying themselves. Even James’s priestly brother had a smile on his face. He was standing next to Catherine, who was chattering away to him. She was about to point them out to Gawain when he surprised her by leading her on to the floor and they joined one of the sets for a country dance.

  Beth had never thought she would enjoy herself so much, but she found such pleasure in dancing with Gawain, that she was unaware how many pairs of eyes were turned on the pair of them. Not that she danced solely with him as there were several traditional country dances and the movement of the dance involved processing in such a way that changed one’s partner several times.

  It was during one such dance that Beth came face-to-face with Master Bigbury. He looked delighted to see her.

  ‘Mistress Llewellyn, I did not think I’d get to meet you like this. Let me introduce myself,’ he said eagerly.

  ‘I know who you are,’ said Beth in a friendly manner. ‘Sir Gawain spoke well of you, Master Bigbury. I am pleased to make your acquaintance, although I do believe the dance is hardly the right place for us to converse.’

  ‘Aye, you’re perfectly correct,’ he said hastily. ‘I will speak to Sir Gawain about dropping by at Raventon if that is acceptable to you?’

  ‘Of course, I look forward to seeing you,’ said Beth, knowing she lied.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when the movement of the dance took him away from her and she found herself confronting Gawain once more.

  ‘I saw you talking to Master Bigbury,’ he said.

  ‘He is going to ask your permission to call on me,’ said Beth with a wry smile.

  ‘You agreed then,’ said Gawain, surprised.

  ‘Aye, as it will be good practice for me. I will converse with him as long as I am chaperoned by your aunt,’ she said with aplomb.

  ‘I would not allow him to speak with you, otherwise,’ said Gawain, amused.

  When the dance came to an end and Gawain went to speak to Master Bigbury, Beth hurried over to where Catherine sat alone, pale-faced and gazing into the distance. ‘Are you feeling ill?’ asked Beth.

  ‘A little faint. It is so hot in here,’ said Catherine, fanning herself with her hand.

  Beth felt worried about her because she was a person who never complained. ‘Would you like to go outside?’

  Catherine nodded and Beth helped her to her feet and, arm in arm, they left the hall. They went into the garden and sat on a bench overlooking the river. Both were silent for a while and then Catherine sighed. ‘My heart is heavy. I used to be extremely fond of Father Hugh, well before he became a priest. Earlier when I was speaking with him, I forgot that he was no longer the young man I used to know. I spoke of matters that were burdening me, but I should have kept them to myself.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ asked Beth.

  Catherine shook her head and stood up. ‘If you will excuse me, Beth, I must speak with my nephew.’

  Beth could see she was really worried. ‘Of course. Would you like me to come with you?’

  Catherine shook her head and walked away.

  Beth wondered what it could be that was bothering Catherine so and hoped that Gawain could ease his aunt’s mind. As for herself, she remained where she was, gazing out over the river and thinking of Gawain and how it felt when his arm had slipped about her waist and he had held her close during the dance. She closed her eyes and could almost feel his lips on hers before trailing a path down the side of her face and her throat. Then she heard footsteps behind her; thinking it might be Gawain, she turned her head. Her smile faded as she saw that it was the priest.

  He was staring at her in a way that made her feel ill at ease, then suddenly he gave a wolfish grin and fear trickled down her spine.

  Chapter Seven

  But when Father Hugh spoke, his words were commonplace and not frightening at all. ‘Good evening, Mistress Llewellyn. I see you are making the most of this charming location.’

  ‘Aye, it is hot and noisy inside, but I must not linger as my guardian will be wondering what has happened to me,’ said Beth, a hint of breathlessness in her voice as she stood up. She felt less scared, but was convinced she had seen him before this day and intuitively knew the memory was not a good one.

  ‘I will not keep you long.’ His elongated eyes appeared to be silver slits in this light. ‘I was greatly saddened to hear of the deaths of your menfolk.’

  ‘You kne
w them?’

  ‘I visited the shop in Pater Noster Row once or twice to purchase books.’

  ‘So that is where I have seen you before,’ said Beth slowly.

  He looked startled. ‘You have a good memory as you must have only been a young girl at the time. Jonathan’s passing must have been a great loss to your father. Such a clever and witty young man, if wrong in his thinking on occasion.’ He pursed his lips and, for a moment, Beth thought he was going to say something more about her half-brother, but when he spoke, it was only to say, ‘And your father gone, too, now. A double tragedy for you, Mistress Llewellyn. No doubt you will be seriously considering selling his business now you are in the market for a husband.’

  ‘Did my guardian tell you that?’

  ‘Who else?’

  ‘Then perhaps you should have asked him that question.’ Beth was unconvinced that Gawain had discussed the matter with the priest. It was more likely to have been Catherine after what she had said earlier to her. ‘Now if you will excuse me, Father Hugh, I really must return to the house.’

  He put out a hand and clutched her sleeve. ‘Dally a little longer, daughter, and tell me if Sir Gawain has got any further in his search for their murderer?’

  ‘Why did you not ask him yourself?’ said Beth, noticing that the priest’s fingernails were long, like a falcon’s talons, and she wanted to shake off his hand.

  ‘Alas, Gawain is not prepared to discuss the matter, not even with his father’s old friend.’