Queen of Silks. Vanora Bennett

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СКАЧАТЬ as he moved his lips across her face to her ear, sounding hoarse now as desire gripped him in earnest, and she breathed the answer he wanted to hear, and almost meant it:

      ‘You.’

      Afterwards, stretching back on the pillows, she shook her head lazily when Thomas said, with a sudden return of anxiety, ‘We should go to breakfast soon; there's hell to pay if you're not down by dawn.’

      ‘We don't have to do everything they want today; they'll understand,’ she murmured back, stroking his shoulder, ‘they'd be disappointed if we rushed out to eat this morning.’

      She was pleased when his face relaxed back into its previous expression of joy – and then suddenly struck by what might have been the very oddest part of the whole strange day she'd just lived through.

      It was Jane. Jane, who was never anything but perfectly sunny as she did the right thing and kept everyone satisfied; Jane, who always looked for something to be happy about in the most miserable of situations; Jane, who'd accepted her father's choice of husband with so much less fuss than Isabel (‘It can't be that bad – at least we'll never have to sit on those horrible stools in the Crown again, blinding ourselves just to trim some old bishop's robe, with every market boy gawping at us as though they'd never seen a girl before’). Jane, whom she'd expected to become the perfect wife instantly: laughing in the kitchen with the servants and the children; laughing more elegantly at the mayor's table; charming her husband into high office; magicking contracts out of customers with her wit and lovely limbs.

      Jane hadn't been so graciously dutiful last night. As soon as the King had bowed and asked her husband's permission to take her as partner in the basse dance, she'd got up, without even waiting for Will Shore's stammered consent, and swayed off across the room with the King, looking radiant.

      An hour later, when Isabel and Thomas left, Jane was still sitting with the King in a pool of golden light, ignoring her husband, deep in a serene conversation quite unrelated to the hubbub of dancing and shadows all around. And, in the darkness beyond their conversation, Isabel now remembered an uneasy play of eyes. John Lambert's eyes, fixed adoringly on the King. The eyes of the King's friend, Lord Hastings, fixed hungrily on Jane. And Will Shore's eyes, dazed and puzzled, looking from one golden head to the other, as if he were wondering whether to feel awestruck by the King's attention to his new wife, or just left out.

      In the end, they only got up in time to join Alice Claver for dinner after eleven in the morning. There was a simple dish of beef and bread and beer, all anyone could manage after yesterday's excesses. William and Anne Pratte were there with Alice – had they even gone away? Alice wondered. They seemed as familiar with this house as if they lived here, though she knew they had their own home near Jane's new one on Old Jewry. They were gossiping and grinning, like they had been yesterday, and Anne, on seeing the young couple, immediately launched into a story for them about the excitements they'd missed later last night. About how more courtiers had come to join the king after the couple had left, including the King's brother, the Duke of Gloucester, small and dark, ill-favoured and bad-tempered, and about how Jane had danced with the King practically till the candles had burned down.

      Perhaps it was sharing work, in the way of so many Mercery families – the husband doing the wholesale trading while the wives made luxury retail products from their husbands' silk purchases, sold them, and minded the apprentices – that had made this couple look so like twins. They were both small and tubby and cheerful. William Pratte's hair was thin and grey, and both pairs of eyes were grey too, but as lively and inquisitive as those of squirrels. They finished each other's sentences, and Alice Claver's too. That would never have happened at the decorous, often silent Lambert table; but no one here seemed to mind.

      The three of them made such a point of courteously including the newlyweds in their grown-up conversation, and so strenuously avoided reference, even by the smallest untoward smirk or movement of an eyebrow, to the pleasures of the marriage bed, that Isabel spent the entire meal going alternately hot with shame and cold with dread, just in case they were about to start.

      Her stomach churned so badly at times that she could only half-hear the harmless gossip they were chewing over from the wedding feast. John Brown, her father's replacement as alderman: going bald; looking fat; should take more exercise. Her father: looking indecently handsome; what had his robes cost him? (Here three bright pairs of adult eyes turned cautiously towards her, then away.) Gratefully, she felt Thomas's hand cover hers under the table and squeeze. His hand was damp; his face hangdog; he must feel as nervous as her.

      ‘You'd never have got King Henry turning up like that at a merchant's wedding,’ little Anne Pratte whispered confidingly, turning to Alice Claver. Isabel waited for Alice Claver, the head of this household, to look forbiddingly at her; it didn't do to gossip about kings. But the larger woman just snickered encouragingly and replied, with a disrespect Isabel found startling: ‘No, never; give me a big handsome hero for a king any day, especially if he's going to take a proper interest in us …’

      ‘… And stop the Italians cheating us,’ William Pratte butted in hopefully. ‘And knock some sense into the Hanse. Maybe even get the French pirates while he's about it. I'll be for the House of York, all right, if King Edward's going to really stir himself to help the City. No more loafing around while every lord in the land runs wild and our business goes to rack and ruin. I tell you, it'll be ‘God Save the King’ and ‘Hallelujah!’ every morning at my table if Edward goes on doing better than that …’ He screwed up his face and stuck his tongue out of his mouth, letting it loll like a lunatic's. The street-boy code for half-wit King Henry.

      Isabel stared. She should have been scared of what her father would definitely have called treasonous talk. But there was something about the casual mischief flickering round the table that she thought she was going to like, once she'd had time to get used to it.

      ‘Well, let's hope he wins, then,’ Alice Claver said briskly. ‘He still has to catch Warwick.’

      ‘Now,’ she swept on, turning so suddenly to Isabel and Thomas that the bride hardly had time for her heart to leap into her mouth. ‘You two. Talking of our business going to rack and ruin, isn't it time to get you to work?’

      Alice Claver's manner might have been brusque, but her eyes twinkled so merrily that Isabel didn't feel offended. For a moment, at least. Then she realised Thomas, at her side, was bristling with resentment, and thought, falteringly, that perhaps she'd misunderstood the mood.

      ‘Get your lovely legs into the storeroom, eh, Thomas?’ Alice Claver went on prodding, with the beginning of a rough growl of laughter in her voice. ‘Show Isabel the ropes?’

      Isabel looked down at the table, but not before she saw the Prattes giving each other another of their sharp, birdlike looks – enough to show her it wasn't the first time they'd heard Alice Claver say this sort of thing to her son, and that they didn't expect a positive outcome. Isabel squeezed Thomas's hand back. If he felt bullied, she wanted to show her support.

      ‘Aw, Ma,’ she heard Thomas answer. It was a child's whine, and there was a cunning look in his eye that she could see meant he had no intention of working today and would say anything to avoid it. Isabel let her hand go soft again. ‘We only got married yesterday.’

      Alice Claver looked unimpressed. ‘Well, you've had all morning to loll about, haven't you?’ she said, and there was more roughness and less laughter in her voice now. Isabel blushed. The Prattes glanced at each other again. Visibly restraining her impatience, Alice Claver continued: ‘You know William's very kindly offering to take you round the selds. Showing you the kind of range of goods you might think of buying to set yourself up. Introducing you to the kind of people at Guildhall who can advise you.’

      She СКАЧАТЬ