Mistress to the Crown. Isolde Martyn
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Название: Mistress to the Crown

Автор: Isolde Martyn

Издательство: HarperCollins

Жанр: Исторические любовные романы

Серия: Mills & Boon M&B

isbn: 9781472015402

isbn:

СКАЧАТЬ and Lancaster? No, I do not uphold a war with France.’

      He seemed amused by my outspokenness. ‘I shall inform his grace the King of your opinion, little mistress.’

      ‘I pray you do not, my lord,’ I said genially, for I knew he was teasing me, but inside I was bristling for I dislike being belittled. ‘As for taxes, a man may milk a cow, for sure, but there comes a time if there is insufficient grass when—’

      His gasp of laughter interrupted me. ‘Mistress Shore! And there was I believing you only get milk if you pump a cow’s tail, but now you tell me it’s a matter of grass.’

      For an instant I thought to clamp my lips closed and wallow in mortification but instead the she-devil in me brazenly retorted, ‘My lord, you may believe what you will. Perhaps in Leicestershire there are a lot of cows with aching tails!’

      Hastings drew a breath at my audacity, for he was from those parts, then laughed heartily, slamming his hand upon the table. It was fortunate that his steward’s polite cough ended the conversation for although you can push the boat out far when you are younger and female, it is best not to get into unfamiliar waters.

      Lord Hastings’ hand between my shoulder blades was extremely agreeable as he escorted me back to Father. ‘Your daughter has a sharp wit, Master Lambard.’

      ‘Oh, please do not tell him that, my lord, or he will start noticing.’

      Father pushed an armful of samples at me with a glare to hold my tongue.

      As we walked back to Silver Street, he said, ‘That man will seek to have you, Elizabeth.’

      When I made no answer, he added, ‘You’ll not encourage him. I’ll not have any daughter of mine causing a scandal. The Guild won’t like it.’

      ‘I do not think you have any right to preach to me, sir.’ I watched his handsome profile redden.

      ‘Damn it, I suppose you’ll never forget I made a fool of myself.’

      We walked on in silence, both of us remembering how he had stupidly leased a house in Wood Street for his mistress and then when he had finished with her, she had moved out taking everything that could be lifted, unscrewed or levered off. Because the dwelling was rented from the Goldsmiths’ Guild and Father did not have the coin in hand to pay for the woman’s thievery, his reputation would have been ruined. Fortunately Alderman Shaa forewarned me and provided a list of all that was owed. It took all my savings to pay my father’s debts.

      ‘I helped you then with what little money I had, Father,’ I exclaimed, hastening to keep up with his angry stride. ‘But now all your cargoes have been safely delivered, you might consider helping me.’

      He halted. ‘To grease some slimy lawyer’s palm, Elizabeth, so he’ll write to His Holiness in Rome on your behalf? Jesu! If divorce was easy, princes would change their wives like they change their cotes. Besides, you and Shore have managed all these years.’

      ‘Managed!’ I echoed indignantly, tempted to toss Father’s precious samples in the nearest sewer. ‘Shore’s been impotent since he had that quarrel with the cooper’s cart, and before that was not much better.’

      I knew what I was missing. I had discovered how to pleasure myself.

      ‘I concede that Shore is not of the right temperament for you, Elizabeth,’ Father was saying, ‘but as I’ve told you many times before, he’s no sluggard and the Mercer’s Guild thinks highly of him. Why, I’ll wager he could become an alderman like me in a few years’ time. Just be patient.’

      ‘Patient for what? I did not want this marriage when I was twelve and now I am twenty-five and childless, I am even more resolved to end it.’

      Several passers-by were eyeing us now and Father rapidly dredged up his pat-on-the-head-and-she-will-calm expression that he used with Mama when she was angry.

      ‘Sweetheart,’ he cajoled, putting his free arm about my shoulder to urge me forward, ‘taking a husband to law is not how a decent woman behaves. Marriage is for life. It is God’s will.’

      ‘God, sir, was never married.’ I shoved his merchandise back into his arms and fisting my skirts marched on alone.

      ‘You try my patience, Elizabeth,’ he grumbled, hastening after me. ‘Even if you had the money for a petition to Rome, his Holiness in Rome would never listen to a woman.’

      ‘I’ll make somebody listen,’ I vowed.

      And maybe it would be Lord Hastings.

       III

      ‘What’s going on, Margery?’ I whispered to Alderman Shaa’s daughter on Sunday, a week later after we had heard the sermon at St Paul’s Cross. I could see that her parents and mine were heading off together to their favourite tavern for ale and pies, but Margery was blocking my way, insisting that Shore and I remain with her in the stands at St Paul’s Yard beside the cathedral. She had more flesh to keep her warm; I was feeling chilled and ravenous.

      I had always trusted Margery. We had become friends at the Cripplegate School for merchants’ daughters and neither of us had found marriage easy. But there was something else that bound me to her family. Not just their help in strangling the scandal that would have dishonoured my father, but Master Shaa’s kindness in persuading Shore to let me have my little enterprise with the silkwomen.

      ‘Wait-and-see!’ My friend tapped the side of her nose. ‘A surprise.’

      ‘Oh lord, we haven’t got to watch another pair of priests being flailed around the yard, have we?’ I sat down again with great reluctance. The hour’s sermon on Divine Love, delivered by a Franciscan with a blocked nose, had been tedious. ‘Won’t your children be missing you?’ I muttered.

      ‘Lizbeth! Be patient!’

      The last thing I wanted was to watch some poor wretch doing penance for their sins. God’s mercy! I was the last person to desire to cast the first stone. Part of me was bursting to tell Margery about my encounters with Lord Hastings, but her tolerance of others’ foibles had narrowed since her marriage to the goldsmith Hugh Paddesley, a man I did not care for. Sometimes she sounded more like Paddesley than he did.

      ‘Ah, here we go,’ she exclaimed, nudging me with her elbow.

      A ragtag mob of people, who had not heard the sermon, was thickening the crowd. Alarm bells sounded in my head. Adultery! It had to be adultery! I cast a sharp look at my friend. Had she suspected I was dreaming of taking a lover? No, that was lighting a bonfire with green wood for I read no rebuke in her eyes, and Shore and Paddesley were discussing cockfighting with their friend Shelley. Nothing was untoward.

      ‘I promise you, Lizbeth!’ she exclaimed. ‘You’ll be glad you stayed.’

      There was only one penitent in the open cart, a woman in a white shift with her long dark hair unbound about her shoulders. Not a common strumpet by the way she held herself. Well nourished, too, neither scrawny nor obese. The crowd whooped as the sheriff’s soldiers pulled her roughly down onto the cobbles and untied her wrists. A priest handed her a lit taper, and then with two soldiers ahead of her and two behind her with their halberd blades prodding her forwards, she began her journey of contrition СКАЧАТЬ