‘Oh, Elizabeth, I will say it over and over - I care for you deeply. You are my wife. I am not a true husband to you, and shall not pretend it is so, but I would never put our lives in jeopardy. Never, my dear, my sweet Lizzy. Understand this. You have given me your trust, and I care for you more than my life. I would give you children if you would let me.’
I bowed my head because he meant those words. It was I who had insisted that he moved into the chamber across the narrow passageway, and I certainly did not want him to share that other chamber with another, not Toby, not anyone. Nor did I wish to share my cold bed with Tom Williams either. I did not want his children. I did not want him. I remained his wife because I had no choice as I saw it. Disgrace was worse than an endangered soul. I often spent hours on my knees before the statue of the Virgin in St Alban’s Church, begging intercession for my concealment and forgiveness for his sin, for his soul, praying that he would change his nature.
I said bitterly, ‘I should never have wed with you, Tom Williams, but I shall keep your secret, just never bring it here to our home.’ I turned to go, but stopped. ‘Toby will bring trouble to this house. Send him away.’
‘Listen.’ He pulled me back and folded me close to his breast. He gently stroked my loosened hair - for he was a very gentle man - and whispered into my ear, ‘Toby is not a threat to you or to me. You know I have long known another. We accept that our marriage is an arrangement, but, as I have often said, if you can share me, I am still willing to woo you. You never have allowed me this. Any time I made an advance you have shunned me, even when we shared a bed, and I would never force you.’
I pulled away from him. ‘I cannot share you. I won’t share you. Let it be enough that I keep your secret, that I have kept it for years from your mother and your father and from the servants. No one knows. They consider me barren,’ I said bitterly. ‘They pity me. Let it be so,’ I said bitterly. ‘They think I spend so much time on my knees because I pray for a child, but it is because I pray for your soul.’
He sank down onto his clothing coffer, his eyes brimming tears. I stared back at him. Our wedding night had been a disaster. I was a virgin before it and I remained so now. How could I allow him intimacy knowing what I had recognised on our wedding night, and on hearing the distraught confession he had whispered in my ear several nights later. He said then that he would never lie to me and he never had. That took courage, for the Church would condemn him as a heretic. He went against God’s laws, and was neither holy nor pure. Some may ignore this unnatural state, but if he was discovered by priests such as the righteous Dominicans he would be castrated and executed. He was unnatural, Leviticus said so, but Tom opined that that his love should neither be a questioned nor a judged matter.
He reached out to me again. ‘Forgive me, Elizabeth. Forgive me, and let us make a child together.’
I shook my head. ‘No, I prefer to be considered barren.’
‘The Church would approve of a child.’
I, who had never wanted to wed and have children, often felt the loss now that I was married. Yet, I would not make one with Tom Williams. I doubted he was capable of the deed with me, as our marriage night had proved. How could I bear any renewed attempt with him, his awkwardness and fumbling? I shook my head and felt tears gather behind my eyes.
I recovered my equilibrium and said, turning back to face him, ‘Where did you find Toby? Why is he here?’
‘I was south of the river today delivering cloth to Mistress Worth. As you know, she has bought yellow wool for dresses for her girls, her geese, from us. Toby was employed sweeping floors. We fell to conversation. When I discovered that his father was a knight up in Lincoln and that he had run away, I could not leave him to a life of drudgery in Mistress Worth’s stew pot. He is only fifteen but trained with a sword.’
I conceded. ‘If I keep him, he must behave.’
‘The maids will all love him. Give him a chance, Elizabeth. He is of no interest to me, not in that way.’
‘I believe you, Tom,’ I said after a long silence. ‘He may stay, but if he is trouble you must return him to Mistress Worth.’ I turned my back on him, closed the door and stepped into the narrow corridor between our chambers, shutting him out.
Tom was right and I was wrong.
Toby slept with the apprentices in a chamber attached to the warehouse. They liked him. He performed sword tricks for them and fenced with Tom when he wanted to practice his own skills. Even so, Toby did not seem much of a guard to me. He simply was not much of a threat to anyone and was more useful chopping wood and running messages, mostly for Tom. He knew the City well.
The maids adored Toby from the moment of his arrival. Who would not? A painter’s brush could not do him justice. Our slim young watchman had singular beauty. His face had perfect contours. He possessed wide, forget-me-not blue, dancing eyes, a straight nose, broad cheekbones and full red lips. Toby was petted and fawned upon by all and soon absorbed into my household. I, too, was glad of his antics, jokes and stories and, in time, he won me over with charm, manners and courtesies. That May he turned sixteen and on his name day we gave him a small celebration and a new jerkin, cloak and hose.
I was right. Toby had brought us trouble, though not of his own making. Someone had suspected the truth about my husband, and decided that Toby had similar desires. He could not stay.
Chapter Thirteen
1513
I CALLED MY SERVANTS together and informed them that Toby was not responsible for the fire, inventing a story about a feud that had existed in his past before he had come into our household. He had been attacked in June and attacked again last night. He was guilty of not returning to us before but he had been terrified. Since he was still in grave danger, he would soon be leaving the household. I requested their silence and expected their loyalty. Gerard Smith glared at me when I made this pronouncement. He told me that I should have turned Toby out but I said, ‘No, I cannot.’ Meg shook her head, glancing at Smith as she did.
I knew the wisdom of my journeyman’s concern and I knew, too, that Toby must go and soon. I just could not think of how I was to get him to Lincoln. The apprentices and Gerard Smith might not keep silent for long. Meg grunted at Toby. Cook tolerated him. The other servants avoided him.
As this taxed me, and in addition to this new crisis, I had to think of my business. There was to be a cloth market in the Drapers’ Guildhall before Christmas and as a cloth merchant’s widow, I would be eligible to sell my cloth there. When I broached this with Smith, he said that he would ready the cloth and make sure of its value. He never spoke of Toby, who had retreated to the kitchen and hid away there, spoiled by cook who had quickly forgiven him and the servant girls with whom he flirted outrageously, especially Bessie who was only twelve.
The opportunity to send Toby to Lincoln came from an unexpected quarter when Thomas Cromwell returned from Northampton with Barnaby. I received them in my parlour. Barnaby was paler but otherwise well. I sent him off to recount his adventures to the other apprentices and sent Meg to the kitchen for a jug of wine and cakes. When she returned, I suggested that for propriety’s sake she remained and sewed at the other side of the chamber. Smiling, she settled herself on the bench below the window where she could stitch and watch the street at the same time, both occupations she enjoyed. Meg was working on a piece of saffron-coloured woollen cloth sewing sleeves for a new gown I was to wear when I would come out of mourning. I often thought Meg would make a good spy. She knew, too, how to guard her tongue.
Thomas Cromwell and I sat on either side of the fire place. After we had exchanged pleasantries, and I had thanked him again for his care of Barnaby, I told him about Toby. I had a feeling that he did not believe my story about a feud but that he was not going to question it either.
He placed his glass down on the table and began to pace the room. The logs crackled in the fire place. I sipped my wine. A log spat. I lifted a small fire brush and swept the myriad of sparks back into the fir
e. As Thomas never spoke but sat down in a chair by the fire, his hands folded under his chin deep in thought, I watched Meg make dainty stitches and waited. She was absorbed in her task and, ever the good servant, she was all but invisible when she chose.
At last Thomas spoke, ‘Here is my suggestion. I know a cloth merchant who is travelling north of Lincoln to Boston, and the boy could journey north with him. But, Mistress Elizabeth, it might be best if I take Toby with me this afternoon. Since I arrived with one boy, it will not cause remark if I depart with one.’ I felt a sense of gratitude and relief flow through me. This man had twice been my saviour.
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Not sir, surely. Thomas, please.’ He leaned forward holding my eyes with his cool grey look. ‘May I call you Elizabeth?’
I nodded. ‘You do already.’ I smiled. As if he needed permission! ‘Where do you lodge?’ I added, thinking that it was in the City, and Toby would have to be concealed there.
‘I am staying in Putney for now, in my father’s tavern.’
‘Your father’s house?’ I was surprised. I had thought he would lodge in the City.
I was even more astonished when he said, ‘My father was in prison this year for cheating with ale and other crimes.’ He rolled his grey eyes. ‘My father won’t change. He is a lout and a cheat, simple as that. He has not recovered his health. Now, he is dying. As you may know, because my mother died long ago, my sister, Cat, rules the household. Usually, I lodge in the City since I am studying the law. I help with cases that come to the attention of the Company of Merchant Adventurers.’ He hesitated and sighed deeply. ‘I suppose it is blood ties that persuade me home. He is my father, after all.’
I murmured, ‘And we forgive our fathers.’ Louder I said, ‘I am sorry for his ill-health.’ I could see sorrow gather in Thomas’ eyes. ‘I am passing Christmastide in Putney at my father’s manor house. You see, I promised Mother that I would come. Unfortunately, I fear my father will press me to allow him to direct my affairs.’ Thomas Cromwell was watching me intently and with understanding in his eyes. I found that I wanted to tell him about my father and even all the burdensome things concerning my marriage because I had so long kept these events close to my heart. This man had a way about him that made you want to tell him things. He was a listener. The tale threatened to come out but I knew that must stop. I folded my hands in my lap and ceased talking.
Meg put her sewing down. ‘Shall I fetch candles, Mistress Elizabeth? The day is fading and with it the light.’
This simple question was so normal, I felt a wash of relief flow through me. ‘Thank you, Meg, and tell Toby to fetch his bundle and come here. He is leaving with Master Cromwell today.’
‘Good.’ I glared at her and with a swish of her kirtle she fled from the parlour.
Thomas leaned forward. ‘You were speaking of your father, Elizabeth.’
I took a breath and said, ‘My father thinks I must marry again. He found me a suitor. There is no place for a woman in the cloth business, so he says.’
‘And you rejected the suitor?’ He smiled. ‘You seem to be managing very well, but perhaps I can help you to further success. After Christmastide, I return to Antwerp. I could sell some of the cloth you purchased in Northampton for you.’
I felt a smile light up my face. ‘I had hoped you would and I am grateful.’
‘I have many contacts.’ He paused, then said, ‘May I look at your new cloth? I hope you will consider keeping the best for a new gown for your Christmastide. I think a deep burgundy is your colour.’
‘I do have a deep burgundy amongst the new cloth.’
‘To allow the petticoat to fade into obscurity.’ He put on a very solemn face.
‘Possibly,’ I said.
Taking a lamp, I led him two flights of stairs to the attic where I had stored the best of the new cloth. Thomas fingered the ells of fabric as carefully as he had done months previously. He held the lantern higher. ‘You have an expert eye.’ He pulled out the burgundy, a patterned mixed cloth, and held it up as if he could see it already sewn into a gown. ‘This would look lovely on you, Elizabeth.’ He appraised me for a moment, his eyes moving down my person as if he had a sense of my exact measurements. ‘Yes, it will be a gift.’
I knew that if I permitted it, he would send for this cloth and return it to me sewn into an elegant gown fit for a court lady. I shook my head. ‘You must not. It is not seemly. I have my own tailor, Master Thomas.’
‘I wish it was appropriate,’ he said and laid down the bolt of cloth. ‘But you are right. It is not so yet,’ he said in his quiet voice.
I was confused as to what he had meant by ‘yet.’
He looked around again, touching materials, looking closely with a practised eye until, finally, he came to the painted cloth covered with Tudor roses. He turned back the roll and peered closely. ‘I am sure a courtier would delight in this.’ He put it down too. ‘I shall do my best for you.’
‘Thank you, but I am keeping this for my parlour.’
He raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Did I notice a small printed volume of Erasmus on the table in your parlour?’
‘Yes, Prior Anthony from Austin Friars gave it to me.’
Thomas’ grey eyes looked animated and in the lamp glow I saw that they were again hazel rimmed with grey, ever changing, the warm brown softening them. Today they seemed to contain flecks of green too, reminding me of woods on a gentle spring day. He reached over, took my hands and added, ‘You once said that you can read and write?’
‘Yes, I keep ledgers. I have always done that. The Prior of Austin Friars invited me to come and see their library, but, now, I haven’t time for reading books.’
‘That is a pity. Books provide windows into the soul and tease the imagination both.’ He looked at me, thoughtfully now, and his face lit up to match the glow in his eyes, as if he suddenly had a brilliant thought. ‘If you are in Putney would you permit me to visit you at Christmastide? We must talk of books and other things too, Mistress Elizabeth.’
‘It would please me very much,’ I said. ‘Father will be happy to see you. He has been concerned for me since the fire in my storehouse. He will be pleased to know you are taking my cloth to the Low Countries for sale.’
Thomas allowed my hands to fall again. He looked thoughtful again. ‘Elizabeth, have you idea who caused the fire that night?’
‘No, Toby did say that one of the men who attacked him had a scar on his face and that he wore a brown mantle with velvet trim. He smelled of incense.’
‘So perhaps not a feud.’
I slowly inclined my head. ‘Maybe not.’
‘Take precautions, Elizabeth. You are a widow with only servants to protect you. Most merchants with valuable goods would have an armed keep watch on their merchandise.’
I nodded. ‘I do my best.’
‘It may not be enough.’ He lifted my hand to his lips and held it for a moment in his own finely manicured hand before letting it go. ‘If you ever have need of me you must send for me.’
That afternoon, I discerned loyalty in Thomas Cromwell. He had travelled far, and had observed much that I did not understand. He understood things without speaking of them. Love is a slippery business. Love unrequited is destructive, but I could not help myself. I wanted love. The wise say marry as advised and love will follow. How could I believe this aphorism since I had not found it so in my own life? Knots gathered in my stomach when I was with him, telling me over and over that, simply, I was falling in love with him.
‘We must fetch Toby,’ I said, remembering uncomfortably that I was an unchaperoned woman.
‘Indeed, Elizabeth, and I shall send for whatever you wish me to sell in Antwerp.’
I wished he would come himself.
Father would be pleased to hear I had a protector in Thomas Cromwell. Perhaps, now he would forget his obsession with Master Northleach, who was gone away to Flanders.
Chapter Fourteen
LI
FE RESUMED NORMALITY DURING the week following Toby’s departure. At the end of the week, Thomas Cromwell sent a covered wagon for the fabrics. His factor would sell them for him, he had said. Fortunately, I had enough time to have the new cloth passed for quality by the drapers’ inspectors and it was stamped to clear it for sale. Smith took control of this, his mood pleasant now that Toby was gone. The rest of the new cloth I held onto for sale in the Drapers’ Guildhall. I kept back my roll of painted cloth, deciding that I would not sell it until I must.
On the tenth day of December I set up my stall in the Guildhall. I was not the only merchant’s widow to do so, though it was my cloth that won envious glances from other merchants. The same merchants who had been rude in September glared my way. As we were setting up, the two other widows came over swishing their practical though nondescript skirts over the tiled floor to examine my goods.
Running her hand over a length of grey serge, one said, ‘Very good, Mistress Williams. It is pleasing to see you taking control of your business. Such fine cloth too. That fire last Midsummer was a terrible business. And just after your husband’s funeral. If you need advice ask Widow Ponsenby.’ She pointed to her ample bosom. ‘That is me.’
Smiling, I thanked her for her concern.
The other, Mistress Argent, a mean-faced woman from lower Wood Street whom I recognised from my husband’s funeral, was not so kind. Her remark, Lucky indeed it is that you have a father to help you, was unnecessary. She fingered my cloth in a dismissive manner and moved along the trestles to where Meg was setting out trims, lifted a strip of grey rabbit fur and dropped it onto the table again as if it could bite. ‘Could be better and somewhat scrappy. I hope there are no forbidden furs here,’ she said unkindly and quickly moved away. For a moment her words hurt. As if I would have ermine anyway.
Meg glared at her back. ‘Ignore that one, Mistress.’
‘I intend to. She is a bitter woman,’ I replied and wore my most confident smile.
The Woman in the Shadows: Tudor England through the eyes of an influential woman Page 11
