The Tudor Bride (38 page)

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 assumptions 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.

‘How did you know when the wedding would be held?’ I asked. ‘We only arranged it four days ago.’

‘Geoffrey sent a courier to Master Roke, asking him to bring his daughters and when I heard why they were going to London I just had to come too. But never mind that, let me look at you. By St Nicholas, dearest Mette, you look wonderful! People will accuse Master Vintner of cradle-snatching, having such a young-looking bride! Being in love certainly suits you.’

‘I think you exaggerate, Mademoiselle, but if I do look well it is due to the cleverness of Meg Anthony. She has made me this gown and I have never liked one more. I think it surpasses even the work of my son-in-law Jaques.’

It was the fabric that was so special about the gown Mistress Anthony and her apprentices had made for me. It was a rich tabby silk, smooth and supple, in a gleaming golden brown which brought out the colour of my eyes and the skirt seemed to flow over my hips like ripe grain pouring from a sack. The sleeves were as long as the skirt, dagged and lined with nutmeg-brown satin and I wore it with a silver collar which Geoffrey had taken from his strong-box and said had belonged to his mother, and a gauze veil and padded circlet of the same tabby silk as the gown. It was the most beautiful and expensive ensemble I had ever owned and I felt like a queen trailing my train up the church steps to stand beside Geoffrey and make my vows, while all around us stood our friends and relations decked out as gaily as their four-hour ride from Hadham had allowed. No wonder a crowd of local people gathered in the square to watch.

Thomas had arranged for the boys to lead the horses to the stables of a nearby inn, and after the nuptial Mass we all walked in procession back to Tun Lane where Geoffrey’s brothers had delivered a barrel of Gascon wine as a wedding gift and a roasted ox had been ordered from a local cookshop. We had thought there would be plenty to distribute to the poor after the feast but as it was, with the extra arrivals from Hadham, we were obliged to send out for more bread and purchase pies and pasties as alms instead. Everyone contributed something to the wedding entertainment; even Agnes and Hywell had prepared a sweet carol which they sang as a round in French and Welsh and eventually had us all joining in. I was pleased to see that Agnes seemed merrier than her usual retiring self and freely joined in the jokes and laughter, especially when her new swain was at her side. This time it was our turn to sway in the middle while the rest danced around us singing and holding hands.

‘The only thing I wish,’ I murmured in Geoffrey’s ear, ‘is that Alys and Luc were here. They would be so happy for me to be marrying you.’

‘Well, if Saint Christopher grants us a safe passage, we should be seeing Alys within a fortnight,’ Geoffrey whispered back. ‘And perhaps she will have news of Luc.’

Our journey to Paris took even less than two weeks, and the crossing was as calm and pleasant as our trip on the
Hilda Maria
had been fraught with danger. I could not have expected Geoffrey to ignore the opportunity of combining a stay in Paris with some business for the regency council, which meant that we could lodge at the Louvre, rather than making Alys and Jacques feel obliged to vacate their marital bed in favour of their newly married parents and move in to sleep with their children, especially as Alys was still feeding her third child, a healthy-looking boy they had called Guillaume after me as she had promised. It was gratifying to find that every nook and cranny of spare space in their small house was filled with ells of fabric and piles of tailoring work-in-progress, so that once Alys had got over the euphoria of welcoming and congratulating us, she was not unhappy at this accommodation arrangement.

To add to the pleasure of spending time with my burgeoning Parisian family, there was also the delight of some news of my son Luc and even, heaven be praised, a letter, which Alys had received only a few weeks before our arrival.

‘It came through the regency council’s couriers, Ma,’ Alys explained when she handed me the folded missive. ‘Obviously he has found someone to write it for him so it is not very long but he is …’ she halted suddenly, shaking her head. ‘No, I will let you read it for yourself.’

It was the first time either of us had heard anything from Luc since we had all spent Christmas together shortly before I had crossed the Sleeve with England’s new queen. Seven years without word of your son is a long time and I admit that I wept hot tears as I read the letter. The address was the best direction Luc could supply, but at least it had found her.

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To Madame Alys, wife to Master Jacques, Tailor of Troyes, in the street of tailors behind the Louvre,

Greetings Sister,

I hope this finds you well, and your husband and daughter also. No, I have not learned to write. Bertrand the Scribe pens this for me. I am in good health and continue to prosper, as does the cause of my lord King Charles. I am now the assistant to the head huntsman and in charge of the royal kennels. At present we are at Chinon. I believe that soon the king will be back in Paris and we may be reunited.

My master has looked kindly on me and given me his permission to marry. My new wife is called Elinor and is the head huntsman’s daughter. We expect a child in the autumn. I wanted you to know that, God willing, your daughter will have a cousin. I send you my best wishes and wish that you would let our mother know of my new state. I will endeavour to get word to you of the name and sex of the child.

Signed by your brother Luc

His mark

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—

It was more a signature Luc had scrawled beneath the final two words of script, remembered from the lessons I had managed to give him before he found ‘more important’ things to do than learn his letters, and beside it the ink-spluttered outline of a dog’s paw-print. It made me laugh through my tears.

D
ust rose in clouds as I thwacked fiercely with a basketwork beater at a richly coloured tapestry. Hywell had rigged up a line for me in the courtyard, strung between the alehouse and the curtain wall; then he had carried the dusty hangings out of the bishop’s bedchamber and piled them up in a heap over an empty hogshead barrel so that I could throw them over the line one by one and beat them. It was early March, the first time the weather had relaxed its winter grip enough to consider some spring cleaning and I was anxious to prepare the chamber for Catherine’s lying-in. We had estimated that her baby would be born before Easter.