On our return to Fenchurch Street, everyone had finished dinner. Joan was minding Annie and had just put her in her crib for a nap. She said she had work to do in the still room.
‘Wrap up well then,’ I said, wondering what she was concocting. She answered my question before I spoke it.
‘I won’t be long, I promised Master Williamson a tincture of honey, lemon and sage for his mother’s cough.’
‘That is thoughtful of you, especially on such a bitterly cold day.’
‘I shall bring it round to her as soon as it is done. Bessie has promised to mind Annie.’
We took our dinner privately in the parlour by the fire. The snow fell steadily against the window and I watched it for a while, thinking of how cleverly Thomas had handled the widow Watt. I thought of the loan.
‘Do you think it is right to lend money?’
‘Would you borrow money, if you must?’
I had contemplated this after I had lost all. ‘Yes, I would.’
‘It’s not a sin to lend to someone in need. Our King borrows money from the City. He’ll be borrowing more now for the new princess’ household.’
I hoped that we would never lend money to King Henry, for I feared that if we did, we would never have it returned to us. Relieved at the outcome from our visit to Bread Street, I let the matter rest. Joanna Butler’s custom would be reinstated and therefore that of her friends too. Mistress Watt was successfully silenced on the matter of the ever-changing sumptuary. Thomas, cleverly, had placed her in his debt.
Chapter Twenty-five
THE ROYAL PRINCESS WAS christened Mary, and by God’s good grace she survived. I gave prayers up daily for Queen Catherine, before my bedroom altar with its miniature plaster images of the holy family. The altar had been an addition since Annie’s birth, one that we had positioned in our chamber’s alcove below my beloved Italian painting of the Queen of Heaven.
I attended St Gabriel’s Church regularly, where I prayed that a healthy son would, by the Grace of God, follow the birth of Princess Mary. Occasionally, I saw Mistress Watt in the church nave, but if she saw me coming she turned away and hurried off to pray at another saint’s shrine, usually that of St Sebastian, pierced with arrows. That martyr’s statue was placed at the furthest corner from the church’s main door, far from my favoured position before a small altar to Saint Elizabeth, the virgin’s mother. I was glad not to have to speak with Mistress Watt.
On a chill March Wednesday, a ragged wind tugged at my skirts as I pulled open the door into the still room. Annie suffered from a cough and Joan, who was never ill, lay in bed with an upset stomach and was refusing food. Meg reported that she vomited clear bile. Many of our servants had caught colds so at first we thought nothing odd about Joan’s sickness. We were distracted. Our household was on edge, concerned, that a plague would descend on us.
I warned my mother and father ,who were to come to us at Eastertide, to stay away, suggesting in a note that we celebrate Pentecost in Putney instead. By then, our household should be well. Perhaps by Pentecost, I wrote, Thomas can take a few days’ needed holiday.
I folded it up and sealed it with wax and my personal imprint with an image of St Elizabeth. I never mentioned Joan’s illness as I did not want to worry my mother but sent a servant boy with my note to Father’s premises on Cornhill.
The still room door blew closed behind me. I secured it against the gusting wind, and began to hunt along the shelves for a small jar of syrup of figs and honey for colds. Further along the shelf, sat a jar of willow bark tablets that we had procured from the apothecary in Fenchurch Street before Christmas. I placed both in my basket. I lifted down a bunch of dried camomile flowers to mix with milk and honey into a posset. Joan complained of a stomach ailment, not a cold. A posset might soothe it. I found the honey and stood with my hands on it, ready to add it to my herbs, wondering about my sister, thinking that Joan’s behaviour had been more secretive than usual. She kept disappearing, saying she was going to Church to distribute alms. Joan did take a basket of day-old bread to St Gabriel’s for the poor. She was supposed to be accompanied by a servant, but did she always take a servant? I was unsure of it. I thought that she sometimes went alone as St Gabriel’s was so close.
Momentarily distracted, by my suspicious thought, I heard voices rise beyond the partition. I listened. Barnaby and Wilfrid were cutting the pieces of linen and silk mixed fabric that I had requested for my new summer fabrics book.
The still room was part of a long barn that we had broken up into several rooms. Next door to where I kept my medicines and dried herbs, we had made a room where we stored cloth samples and the apprentices kept records of our stock in a great cupboard that took up one wall. Listening carefully, the honey jar still in my hands, I heard the rustle of cloth and the snip of scissors. There was another snip, followed by the rattle of scissors being laid down on a bench and I caught a snatch of their conversation. Surprised at what they were saying, I placed the honey in my basket on the bench and laid my ear to the partition wall; all thought of Joan flew out of my head.
‘Never liked that son of Mistress Watt’s,’ Barnaby was saying. ‘Gore-belly of a man too.’
I felt myself smiling. Master Watt did have a large paunch. He came with a servant to see Thomas and not liking him, I kept out of his way.
Wilfrid spoke up, ‘Have you seen the scar on the servant’s face and his yellow eyes. Looks evil, that man. Barnaby, what does it remind you of?’
There was a pause. Barnaby spoke again.
‘The one who was waiting with the horses when they came to see the Master yesterday? No, never seen him before.’
‘Aye, me neither. He looked at me when I bade him my “Good morrow”, as if I were evil, not him. He glared at me fierce as a Turk, and crossed himself. Is that not peculiar? And you know that scar.’ There was a pause. ‘Made me think of Toby. Barnaby, do you recollect what Toby said about a man with a scar…’
‘That were long ago now. All but two year now. There is more than one man with a scarred face in this city.’
‘As well that Toby is safe in Lincoln. I wonder what he is doing now.’
‘Learning to be a knight.’ Barnaby laughed. ‘And charming the ladies as ever.’
‘I pray 'tis so,’ came Wilfrid’s voice from beyond the partition.
I lifted my basket and hurried out of the still room, firmly closing the door behind me. Anxieties crowded into my mind and took root. What if Master Watt’s servant had been involved in the attack on my Wood Street storehouse those two summers ago? What if he was the man who had attacked Toby? I determined to tell Thomas of the apprentices’ conversation that evening at supper. The fire on my property had upset my household and nearly destroyed my business. Those responsible had never been apprehended. They were at large in the narrow dim streets. I felt myself shudder.
I forgot all about Joan.
After supper, I told Thomas what I had overheard. Thomas pulled off his boots and stretched his feet towards the fire. ‘No my dear, they will not dare. I have the Watts’ loan sewn up tightly. William Watt is setting off to Witney tomorrow. He wants to repay the loan with wool sales. Came to my office yesterday morning to seek advice and to ask me to call in on his mother while he was away.’ He opened his hands. ‘Come, Lizzy, be rational, There are many scarred men in England back from the war with Scotland. This servant seemed humble enough. He wore a cross.’
‘Wearing a cross means nothing.’ I wanted to say that it could have been devout men who had attacked Toby, thinking he was my first husband’s lover, but we never spoke of my husband’s unnatural behaviour, so I said, ‘It is just that Wilfrid had been so sure.’
‘Then I shall question the boys. Toby is the only witness and he is far away. If it gives you peace of mind, next time I am in Lincoln I shall make a point of calling on his family.’
‘I do not want anything to threaten us.’
Having spoken my piece, I lifted up the embroidery I wa
s stitching on a partlet for my sister.
I placed the stitch-work on my lap again and watched the fire flames dance in the grate, for a moment wishing that I could see a safe and prosperous future for us in the flames, a future without danger. ‘Is it necessary to deal in usury, Thomas? You will endanger us if the client cannot pay the interest and loses everything he owns to you. London traders can be jealous. Jealous men can turn to evil ways to protect their own interests.’
‘Elizabeth, leave this unpleasant work to me. Stay your attention to your fabrics and threads. I am generous in my terms. Think about it. If I did not help Widow Watt and her good-for-nothing son, they would lose everything.’
There was no answer to that so I nodded and lifted my needlework again. I drew the black silk in and out of the white linen finding a settling calm in the ordinary, rhythmic action of sliding thread through fabric.
‘I shall ask Barnaby and Wilfrid about this man. If I am not satisfied by their answers, I shall investigate the devil with the scar until I am.’ He leaned forward and kissed my cheek. ‘Now I must leave you. I have accounts to see to, and I am for the Cardinal’s palace tonight.’ He rose from his chair and asked about Annie’s cough.
‘She is with Meg and she is improving. The syrup helped ease her cough.’
‘Where is Joan?’
‘She is unwell too.’ I did not voice my suspicions about my sister’s illness.
‘Joan is healthy. No doubt she will be up and about soon.’ He stretched his hands towards the fire. ‘Meanwhile, I must find out John Williamson’s intentions. He is wandering behind me these days like a boy in mourning rather than one in love.’
If Thomas thought that this would bring a smile to my face, he was wrong. I had become very fond of Joan. My concern now was my parents’ loss of trust in my care of her. A betrothal was one thing but a girl already with child was another, particularly since she was in our care. ‘So you will help them?’ I said aloud. If what I suspected was true, marriage between the lovers was a solution, although Father might not think so, since he had hopes for a wealthy merchant.
‘Yes, my dear. I certainly see John’s potential. I shall train him for the law,’ Thomas said, kissed my head, and gathering his dark-hued cloak about him set off for his closet off the hall.
I knew Thomas would work long into the night. I would not see him before morning if he was off to the Cardinal before dawn rose. If Thomas was not settling land disputes for gentlefolk, he was busy on cases brought before the Drapers’ Court or attending to the stewardship of York Place which had already taken him on many chilly journeys to the river.
The next morning, when Joan lay under her coverlet staring at the bed canopy, eating little and heaving up what she had managed to eat, I knew I was right to suspect her. Before I had the opportunity to go to her, and confront her with my suspicion, Meg came to the parlour.
She closed the door and lowered her voice. ‘Mistress Elizabeth, I must speak to you in confidence.’
‘About Joan?’
‘Yes.’
‘I see.’
We sat together on the cushioned bench.
‘I know what you are going to tell me, Meg.’
She nodded. ‘Mistress Joan is with child.’
‘Are we sure?’
‘As sure as you are sitting there, white as your coif, Mistress Elizabeth.’
‘Does she even know what is wrong with her?’
‘None of her linens have been soiled for two months.’
I leaned my head into my hands. How could Joan be so stupid? They would have to marry. How had they found the opportunity? The visits to St Gabriel’s. In our busy household, where John was practically one of the family, there had been opportunities. I thought back over the past busy months. They sat together over chess games during the past winter. During the snowy weather they had gone into the walled garden to look at its wintry beauty. We had thought nothing of it.
I looked up at Meg again. ‘Two months, Meg, and you never said?’
‘Marigold had charge of the linens last month. Still, at least it means she has not got a contagious disease.’
‘As well it is not.’ I let out a resigned sigh. ‘ I’ll go to her now. ‘But she has not said?’ Those last words were half-hopeful.
‘No, she has not.’ Meg looked down. ‘But I am right,’ she added, looking up again. ‘Sure as day turns to night.’
‘I wonder have they pledged troth, because, if so, they are as good as wed. Master Williamson has been with his mother and sisters but he will return to us tomorrow. ‘ I took Meg’s hand. ‘It could be worse. They are in love, Meg. I hope she will be happy with John, because unless she chooses a nunnery that is her future.’
Meg crossed herself. ‘May God bless them both and bring them happiness.’ Ever practical, she added, ‘Mistress Elizabeth, she needs a brew to ease the sickness. I’ll go and make one now.’
I steeled myself to confront my sister.
***
She confessed to me, saying wretchedly that she loved him and that he loved her. They were secretly betrothed. She opened a small silver box where she kept her treasures and showed me a small silver ring set with a pearl he had given her. It had a pretty engraving of miniature marigolds. ‘Pearl for purity,’ I could not resist saying. I asked her if he knew.
She hung her head and when she looked up her eyes glistened with tears. ‘No, John does not know. Until last week I did not realise it myself. I feel so wretched.’
‘You have spent so much time with Alice and her children, her so often with child, and you did not recognise your own symptoms?’
‘I did not want to see it,’ she whispered.
My heart went out to my sister. I took her hand. ‘It will come right, Joan, you will see.’
She began to sob. ‘I don’t want to go to the nuns.’
I nodded. ‘You must not be sad for your lot. You must be happy, not regretful. You know you love children. We shall look after you. You will not have to go to the convent. You are betrothed. He will be happy if you are.’
‘You promise.’
‘Yes, I give my word.’
They possessed nothing of their own. I glanced over at her clothing pole. Joan’s unworn new Easter gown, rose pink shot with silver threads, would be her wedding gown.
I did not want the servants to hear our trouble, even though I suspected they most likely knew already. When I had spoken with Joan that morning, her sobbing had been loud enough to alert the whole household, so I told Thomas that we must speak privately after we had eaten. He raised an eyebrow and an anxious half-hour followed as we finished supper in silence. The two kitchen maids serving us that evening tiptoed around us. I attended to my plate, anxiously pushing pastry and gravy about, eating little morsels only. My appetite was as poor as that of my errant sister lying above us in her feathered bed. I felt both sorry and happy for her. Sorry because this should not have happened and happy because she said that it was what she wanted.
When we were alone, I told him.
‘I am good at watching out for secrets.’ Thomas’ face was thunderous. ‘Yet I did not see that one, and under our noses at that. They were devious.’
‘But you wanted them to wed even though I thought Father would disapprove the match,’ I reasoned. ‘If they are formally betrothed by Pentecost, they can marry by Midsummer. She’ll have been carrying the child for five months by then, but many a bride is five months gone before the wedding, and she may not show her state until a month after that. They are betrothed.’
‘Betrothed indeed! Who witnessed their betrothal?’
‘No one has, but she has a ring.’
‘Not legal. I’ll speak with young Williamson first thing in the morning.’ He raised his fingers, counting aloud, ‘One, two, three; a formal betrothal in May and then three weeks to call banns and we’ll have them married in June.’
‘Father will be angry, and Mother too,’ I said.
‘Not as angry a
s I am at their deceit, but the boy has a bright future. He has a good sense of the wool trade. I can train him up on the legal side as an agent for me. She could do worse than wed into my business.’
‘His uncle is a master builder,’ I said.
‘He is not. He needs to earn money sooner than later if he is to look after a wife and child. I can further the lad’s education. He is already coming out and about with me.’
‘We must help them set up house.’
‘I could give them a loan.’ Thomas frowned at me. ‘I suppose you disapprove.’
‘No, Thomas, we will give them a home as a wedding gift.’
Thomas scratched his head and paced the closet to where we had retreated to have this conversation. When he stopped pacing, he sank into his chair. ‘I shall have to speak with your father.’
Pale-faced, puffy-eyed and humbled, the following afternoon, Joan slid into the closet to stand beside John in front of the Italian cedar-wood inlaid desk. Thomas told her in a perfunctory manner that she had behaved foolishly and that they had betrayed our trust. The pair hung their heads and had the grace to beg our pardon.
Since Thomas had planned to speak to John Williamson about his intentions before he knew that Joan was with child, I considered that it was not their secret coupling and betrothal that was the crime. Thomas had been infuriated because they had sneaked around us, and at Joan’s concealment of her pregnancy, and, most of all, because he had not seen it.
I accompanied Thomas to my father’s building on Cornhill. We spoke kindly of John Williamson and convinced Father that Joan was as well wed.
‘I like Williamson, though with Joan’s looks and learning, we could have found her a rich merchant,’ Father said.
The Woman in the Shadows: Tudor England through the eyes of an influential woman Page 19
