Vixen. Rosie Garland

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ you say to Thomas?’ says Cat, and they collapse into raucous laughter.

      ‘Thomas does not come to me,’ I mutter when they’ve finished hooting.

      ‘Why ever not?’ asks Alice, face writ with disbelief. ‘Do you anger him?’

      ‘My Henry came to me quick enough after we were wed,’ twitters Cat, with a salty laugh. ‘A fine and upstanding man he is, too.’

      ‘Oh, cousin!’ snickers Alice, hiding her smile behind her hand. ‘How you talk!’

      ‘My Henry pays his marriage debt delectably often,’ Cat continues. ‘All our little Anne needs is a good firm man to take to hand, don’t you?’

      ‘Cat! This is a priest’s house,’ I say, hearing Thomas’s priggishness in my voice and disliking it intensely.

      ‘Perhaps we should not talk so boldly if you are still a maid,’ she smirks, with a keen edge to the blade of her words. ‘For you are, are you not?’

      ‘Not for lack of trying,’ I sneer.

      ‘Maybe there is some fault in you,’ chirrups Alice, enjoying every minute.

      ‘You need a babby of your own,’ declares Cat with great wisdom. ‘That’ll put a smile back on that sour little face of yours.’

      ‘You are not ugly, my dearest,’ Bet simpers. ‘You could have any man.’

      I nod at this morsel of flattery. I never before found their chatter annoying, yet today all I can think of is how I should like to smack the smiles off their faces.

      ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I demur. ‘I am a cabbage compared to my beautiful sister.’ I lift the heavy boy from Cat’s lap. ‘Aren’t I, my little man?’ I coo, tickling him gently. ‘This is the way the farmers ride,’ I sing and jiggle him on my lap.

      He twists his square head round to gawp at me and vomits curdled milk over my bodice.

      ‘What a lad!’ crows Cat, patting me with a napkin and smearing the puddle in a broader circle. ‘He does that if you bounce him too hard.’

      Alice sweeps the child from my hands and cradles him on her lap, where he shrieks happily, seemingly done with spewing now that I am covered. He lets out a fart of such sonorous depth that he scares himself and begins to yowl, which of course only serves to make Cat and Alice laugh the louder.

      ‘A true man,’ crows Bet.

      ‘My own little man,’ adds Cat.

      I know they do not mean to hurt me with their talk of adoring husbands and babes. I give myself a moment’s respite by going to fetch bread. They have brought cakes, a jug of fresh ale and more besides, for which I am grateful. I am shamed by the empty cupboard I am housekeeper to. At least I have platters to spread before them, cups into which to pour the drink.

      ‘Well now. It’s early days. I’ll bring Thomas to me soon,’ I say, with a great deal more confidence than I feel.

      ‘If it is help you need …’ says Alice, a great deal more kindly. ‘Even the loveliest of maidens needs a little—’

      ‘Encouragement?’ suggests Cat.

      ‘Help,’ says Isabel.

      ‘Assistance,’ adds Bet.

      ‘Inspiration,’ says Alice.

      ‘Don’t be cast down just yet,’ murmurs Isabel. ‘There are many ways to bring savour to your bed.’

      ‘See, Anne,’ says Cat, with unexpected tenderness, and pats me with a dimpled hand. How she keeps it so soft, what with cleaning up after a husband and her baby, I do not know. ‘We are your loving friends. Isabel, show her.’

      Isabel dips into her bodice and draws out a tiny packet wrapped in linen. She places it in my hand, still warm from her breast. I look at them in turn. Alice raises an eyebrow and Bet guffaws as though something very naughty is about to take place. I undo the folds to reveal a pinch of dark powder. Although a mere sprinkling, the scent of spices fills the room with delight. I lift it to my nose.

      Cat glances about the room nervously. ‘Careful!’ she hisses. ‘Don’t sneeze over it. It cost more than you can guess.’

      I hold my tongue. I must be polite, for she means well. Bet sniggers and I glare at her until she quietens.

      Isabel pats my arm. ‘Don’t you mind her, cousin. This cannot fail. Put these spices in a glass of wine and Thomas won’t be able to take his eyes from you.’

      ‘Or his hands,’ snorts Alice.

      ‘Or his kisses,’ says Bet. ‘He won’t sleep for dreaming about you,’

      ‘Dreaming’s not what Anne needs,’ sneers Cat.

      ‘There is no wine in the house,’ I say. ‘Thomas is not—’

      ‘You mean he’s a tight-fisted—’

      Isabel’s eyes widen. ‘Cat,’ she breathes. ‘Kind words. We must help our little cousin.’

      ‘Why must we?’ protests Cat, raising her eyebrows until they disappear beneath the folds of her kerchief. ‘Anne wants this, Anne wants that. It’s all I’ve ever heard, from the moment the spoilt brat was born.’

      ‘You’re upsetting the baby,’ says Alice, jiggling him up and down.

      His fat features gather themselves together, lips pout. He looks on the verge of a good long squawk.

      ‘Anne wants a man, Anne wants a baby, Anne wants a king and golden crown,’ continues Cat in a sing-song voice, ignoring her son. ‘Here we are, running around after her like we always did.’

      I sniff the spices carefully. ‘Delicious,’ I sigh.

      Their heads swivel like owls spying a mouse and I realise I’ve spoken out loud.

      We set to preparing the drink, Isabel sprinkling the spices into the jug of wine, for she has brought that also. My eyes prick at her kindness. We chatter some more, and even Cat speaks warm words when we part. She kisses me and calls me her silly little goose, but not unkindly. There are lines drawn at the corners of her mouth and eyes, which I’d never noticed before.

      I wait for Thomas to return. I unbraid my hair. I braid it again. I loosen my bodice laces. I tie them again. Never before has he been gone to the church so long. When he returns at last, I declare I am worn out with the waiting. His nostrils flare with the scents perfuming the house. As well as the wine, they have left a neat dish of food: lardons of pork, fried crisp; buttered peas with sippets; two honey-cakes so small you could swallow them both in one mouthful; a humped bun of wheaten bread studded with raisins.

      ‘This is very fine,’ he remarks, with a true note of pleasure.

      I stand by the table, hands gathered behind my back so he cannot see my fingers wringing with nervousness. My face glows with the thought of him speaking as kindly from this day on.

      ‘It СКАЧАТЬ