Man Behind the Façade. June Francis

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      It was her brother who had decided she needed a husband and provided a small dowry, so enabling her to marry Giles Clifton, a stonemason. A young man, a kind man, he had died unexpectedly in an accident when a wall had come crashing down and crushed him, leaving her grieving, childless and almost penniless. During that time Davy had found a position at Queen Katherine’s court and so Rebecca had decided to accept an invitation to live with Giles’s sister, Jane, who had married a widower. Simon Caldwell was also a stone mason and had two daughters from a previous marriage. He and Jane now had a son, and she was with child again. The family lived in Oxford.

      ‘Where are you going?’ called Phillip, interrupting Rebecca’s thoughts.

      She ignored the question, thinking she should have left the Witney feast with Simon and the children. Even when she heard a muffled curse, she managed to resist turning to see the cause for those shocking words. She had said all that she was going to say to Pip Hurst. Besides, she must make haste or it would be dark before she reached the house at Minster Draymore.

      ‘I have noticed that you have managed to control your stammer,’ said a voice closer than she had thought it should be. She almost jumped out of her skin and barely managed to control her jitters to say,

      ‘I only ever stammered, Master Hurst, when my father addressed me or I was rash enough to speak my thoughts aloud. A lesson I learnt much earlier than the day I first stepped foot in your father’s shipyard. You should never have encouraged me to be honest that time.’

      ‘I can understand your fear of your father.’

      Now she did turn and stare at him and the picture he presented caused her to lose her train of thought. He was still wearing the gown and had not quite removed all the paint from his face. She itched to reach up and remove a patch of pink from beneath his arrogant nose, but she controlled the impulse. ‘Of course, you were often on the receiving end of my father’s questionable wit,’ she muttered.

      ‘Sarcasm.’ Phillip’s brow clouded. ‘The times I had to resist the urge to punch him in the face, although I admit your father was an excellent ship’s carpenter. Fortunately I only had to put up with his moods a few months at a time. Trouble was, I never knew when one of his dark moods would suddenly take him. Or why!’

      ‘He—he blamed the Devil for many things, but women also came in for much criticism,’ said Rebecca, her eyes darkening. ‘You—you’re probably unaware of the fact that my mother deserted us when I was a very young child. My brother, Davy, told me that our father always had a temper, but he became embittered after she left and would seldom allow me out of his sight. That was why he took me with him wherever he had work, which surprised me. My mother having rejected me, I could not understand why he should fear I might run off in search of her.’

      Phillip frowned. ‘I didn’t know any of that! I presumed your father was a widower. Do you know why your mother deserted you?’

      ‘I used to ask that question and once I was told there was another man involved. I received a clout for my pains and never dared ask again. I do remember crying myself to sleep and wanting my mother when I was very little, only to be told that if I mentioned her name again then I would be whipped.’ She shuddered. ‘It seemed like a bad dream and I grew to hate her. I have no idea where she is or whom she is with and part of me does not want to know.’

      ‘I can understand why you feel so angry. I find it difficult to imagine growing up without a mother’s warmth and affection. Whenever my father beat me when I was small—even then I did not conform to his standards—I knew I could always find comfort at her knee. He thoroughly disapproved of her encouraging me in my playacting and love of storytelling. She died three years ago and I still miss her.’ He paused to remove the last of the paint from his face and changed the subject. ‘It’s a fact that I did not appreciate your honesty at our last meeting. In truth, your words stabbed me to the heart and my pride took a beating.’ There was a hint of self-mockery in his voice. ‘You see, I always considered myself something of a hero when I took on a role.’

      She smiled. ‘That does not surprise me, Pip Hurst, because even at fourteen summers you had the build and countenance of what I imagined a hero to look like.’

      Phillip rolled his eyes. ‘There’s no need to go overboard with your flattery in an attempt to compensate for what you said years ago.’ He paused. ‘You know, I’d almost forgotten you had dimples. You should smile more often because you are far more attractive when you do.’

      ‘Now you are determined to put me to the blush again,’ she said, lowering her gaze, ‘although I’m not quite certain if I should take that remark as an insult rather than a compliment.’

      He said seriously, ‘It’s a compliment. Not many girls would have dared criticise me to my face, but despite your having a habit of shying off whenever I approached, you showed amazing courage for the mouse-like creature you were then. And because of what you said, I determined not only to become a successful storyteller and player, but do something heroic, as well.’

      ‘Why heroic?’

      His eyes met hers. ‘You should not need to ask. Nicholas, of course. He was my hero, too, and so I wanted some of the fame that came his way.’

      Her smile deepened. ‘You were not playing the part of a hero this evening.’

      ‘No.’ His lips twitched. ‘Although it takes a certain kind of courage for a man to don feminine garb.’

      She bit on her lip to prevent herself from laughing, remembering his gesticulating and pouting, his mincing walk and the falsetto voice he had adopted several times. ‘You were very convincing in the part.’

      ‘So you were at least entertained?’

      ‘I would not deny it.’ Her curiosity moved her to ask, ‘Do you always play women’s roles?’

      He screwed up his face. ‘Not now, although I did when I was younger. Today one of our players fell ill and so I stepped into his shoes.’

      ‘You are to be commended, Master Hurst.’ she said, inclining her head.

      He curtsied.

      She laughed out loud. ‘You became that hag and the beauty as well! I would never have recognised you had you not approached me.’

      He seized on her words delightedly. ‘So my disguise succeeded. I always told you it was a god-given talent.’

      ‘And you make such a fine woman!’ laughed Becky.

      Phillip grew serious. ‘I tell you truthfully that I prefer writing to disguising, but I am not bothered about my friends seeing me dressed thus, although it disturbed my father when I adopted feminine guise and he would make himself scarce, so if it disturbs you also then I will strip off.’ Before she could say a word to prevent him from doing so, he dropped his cloak and dragged the bodice of the gown from his broad shoulders.

      ‘I am not embarrassed, Master Hurst,’ she said. Nevertheless, she could not take her eyes from the width of those powerful shoulders that she remembered wielding an axe and hammer.

      She watched him wriggle out of his skirts, the breath catching in her throat, for there was no mistaking he was all man as he stood there in tight-fitting hose that lacked a codpiece. She could not look away, telling herself that it was not as if she was a virgin, bashful because she had СКАЧАТЬ