The King's Concubine. Anne O'Brien

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СКАЧАТЬ a quiet hum of pleasure as the figures grew to record a vast accumulation of gold coin, and when we had finished the accounts of the week’s business, my husband instructed me to get into the vast bed and go to sleep. I fell into it, and into sleep, to the sound of the scratching pen. Did my husband join me when his work was done? I think he did not. The bed linen was not disturbed, and neither was my shift, arranged neatly from chin to ankles, decorous as any virgin nun.

      It was not what I expected but it could have been much worse.

      * * *

      Next morning I awoke abruptly to silence. Still very early, I presumed, and dark because the bed curtains had been drawn around me. When I peeped out it was to see that the fire had burnt itself out, the cups and ledgers tidied away and the room empty. I was at a loss, my role spectacularly unclear. Sitting back against the pillows, reluctant to leave the warmth of the bed, I looked at my hands, turning them, seeing the unfortunate results of proximity to icy cold water, hot dishes, grimy tasks. They were now the hands of Mistress Perrers. I grimaced in a moment of hard-edged humour. Was I now mistress of the household? If I was, I would have to usurp Signora Damiata’s domain. I tried to imagine myself walking into the parlour and informing the Signora what I might wish to eat, the length of cloth I might wish to purchase to fashion a new gown. And then I imagined her response. I dared not!

       But it is your right!

      Undeniably. But not right at this moment. My sense of self-preservation was always keen. I redirected my thoughts, to a matter of more immediacy. What would I say to Master Perrers this morning? How would I address him? Was I truly his wife if I was still a virgin? Wrapping myself in my new mantle, I returned to my own room and dressed as the maidservant I still seemed to be, before descending the stairs to the kitchen to start the tasks for the new day. The fire would have to be laid, the oven heated. If I walked quickly and quietly I would not draw attention to myself from any quarter. Such was my plan, except that my clumsy shoes clattered on the stair, and a voice called out.

      ‘Alice.’

      I considered bolting, as if I had not heard.

      ‘Come here, Alice. Close the door.’

      I gripped hard on my courage. Had he not been kind last night? I redirected my footsteps, and there my husband of less than twenty-four hours sat behind his desk, head bent over his ledgers, pen in hand, in the room where he dealt with the endless stream of borrowers. No different from any other morning when I might bring him ale and bread. I curtseyed. Habits were very difficult to break.

      He looked up. ‘Did you sleep well?’

      ‘No, sir.’

      ‘Too much excitement, I expect.’ I might have suspected him of laughing at me but there was no change of expression on his dolorous features. He held out a small leather pouch, the strings pulled tight. I looked at it—and then at him.

      ‘Take it.’

      ‘Do you wish for me to purchase something for you, sir?’

      ‘It is yours.’ Since I still did not move, he placed it on the desk and pushed it across the wood toward me.

      ‘Mine …?’

      It contained coin. And far more, as I could estimate, than was due to me as a maidservant. Planting his elbows on the desk, folding his hands and resting his chin on them, Janyn Perrers regarded me gravely, speaking slowly as if I might be a lackwit.

      ‘It is a bride gift, Alice. A morning gift. Is that not the custom in this country?’

      ‘I don’t know.’ How would I?

      ‘It is, if you will, a gift in recompense for the bride’s virginity.’

      I frowned. ‘I don’t qualify for it, then. You did not want mine.’

      ‘The fault was mine, not yours. You have earned a bride gift by tolerating the whims and weaknesses of an old man.’ I think my cheeks were as scarlet as the seals on the documents before him, so astonished was I that he would thank me, regretful that my words had seemed to be so judgmental of him. ‘Take it, Alice. You look bewildered.’ At last what might have been a smile touched his mouth.

      ‘I am, sir. I have done nothing to make me worthy of such a gift.’

      ‘You are my wife and we will keep the custom.’

      ‘Yes, sir.’ I curtseyed.

      ‘One thing …’ He brushed the end of his quill pen uneasily over the mess of scrolls and lists. ‘It would please me if you would not talk about …’

      ‘About our night together,’ I supplied for him, compassion stirred by his gentleness, even as my eye sought the bag with its burden of coin. ‘That is between you and me, sir.’

      ‘And our future nights.’

      ‘I will not speak of them either.’ After all, who would I tell?

      ‘Thank you. If you would now fetch me ale. And tell the Signora that I will be going out in an hour.’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      ‘And it will please me if you will call me Janyn.’

      ‘Yes, sir,’ I replied, though I could not imagine doing so.

      I stood in the whitewashed passage outside the door and leaned back against the wall as if my legs needed the support. The purse was not a light one. It moved in my fingers, coins sliding with a comforting chink as I weighed it in my hand. I had never seen so much money all in one place in the whole of my life. And it was mine. Whatever I was or was not, I was no longer a penniless novice.

      But what was I? It seemed I was neither flesh nor fowl. Here I stood in a house that was not mine, a wife but a virgin, with the knowledge that my marriage vows would make absolutely no difference to my role in the household. I would wager the whole of my sudden windfall on it. Signora Damiata would never retreat before my authority. I would never sit at the foot of the table.

      A scuff of leather against stone made me look up.

      I was not the only one occupying the narrow space. Detaching himself from a similar stance, further along in the shadows, Master Greseley walked softly towards me. Since there was an air of secrecy about him—of complicity almost—I hid the pouch in the folds of my skirt. Within an arm’s length of me he stopped, and leaned his narrow shoulder blades on the wall beside me, arms folded across his chest, staring at the opposite plasterwork in a manner that was not companionable but neither was it hostile. Here was a man adept through long practice at masking his intentions. As for his thoughts—they were buried so deep beneath his impassivity that it would take an earthquake to dislodge them.

      ‘You weren’t going to hide it under your pillow, were you?’ he enquired in a low voice.

      ‘Hide what?’ I replied, clutching the purse tightly.

      ‘The morning gift he’s just given you.’

      ‘How do you—?’

      ‘Of course I know. Who keeps the books in this household? It was no clever guesswork.’ A sharp glance slid in my direction before fixing on the wall again. ‘I would hazard СКАЧАТЬ