Chapter Four #2
There was another great feast tonight in the Tower in honor of some victory the king accomplished against his brother, Richard, many years ago.
Sheridan didn’t keep track of such things, for they were petty family squabbles as far as she was concerned.
What mattered was the here and now. There was, however, one benefit to this victory feast; as much as she pretended not to care otherwise, she knew de Lara would be somewhere in the hall.
If she were to purchase a wonderful fabric and have it back to the apartments by the nooning hour, her maid could baste together an acceptable gown by suppertime.
Her thoughts were idiotic. She knew that even as she climbed into the litter that her men had brought from the stables.
With her sister beside her and the maid on a small gray palfrey behind them, they moved from the Tower grounds through the new gate in the Lanthorn Tower and proceeded out to the avenue along the edge of the Thames.
The river was shrouded in mist as the sun struggled to penetrate.
Sheridan was glad for her cloak, as the temperature had dropped considerably now that they were outside the protective walls of the Tower.
They were nearing the massive bridge that led over the Thames when she caught sight of what she thought was a rat.
It was certainly not an unusual site. But as her caravan grew closer, she saw that it was a tiny little dog.
As her litter passed, the little dog sat on the edge of the road, its tiny tail wagging. She sat bolt-upright on the litter.
“Stop,” she commanded. “Neely, bring me that pup.”
Neely was on his charger at the head of the column.
Those closest to him heard his audible, impatient sigh.
He lifted his three-point visor, of the latest style, and fixed upon the little mutt.
His initial reaction was to contest the request, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.
Whatever the lady wanted, he would oblige without question.
It had long been a policy with him in the hopes that someday, the lady would see him for more than the captain of the guard.
He was convinced that blind obedience and kindness would someday be the key to Lady Sheridan’s heart.
Armor groaning, he dismounted his steed and clanged to the edge of the dirty avenue.
The little dog didn’t run; he merely gazed up at Neely with his big black doggy eyes.
He was a white beast with little legs, short hair, and a big brown spot on his back.
Neely reached down and scooped the mutt into one hand.
He walked over to the litter and extended the hand that held the puppy. Sheridan gently took the dog from his mailed grip.
“Look at him,” she cooed. “He is freezing, poor little thing.”
The dog wagged his tail happily and licked her furiously on the chin. She laughed out loud as Alys, not strangely, began to complain.
“’Tis cold, Dani,” she said. “We must keep moving.”
Sheridan was consumed with her happy little acquisition. Neely gave the order to move out and the procession continued to the road that led from the bridge and deep into the bowels of London.
The streets leading to the merchant district were cold, dirty and, at times, dangerous.
Neely was on his guard as they made their way through the narrow avenues, passing by citizens of London whose faces were dark with suspicion and curiosity.
By the time they reached the busier merchant district, the sun was starting to peek through the fog.
Sheridan, having fallen in love with her little pet in the short trek from the Tower to the commercial quarter, perked up at the sight of the merchant stalls.
She climbed off the litter, leaving the dog enfolded within the heavy woolen blanket that had covered her. Though the sun threatened, the air was still cold and she pulled her cloak tightly about her. Her eyes fairly glittered at the sight before her.
Neely approached. “If it pleases my lady, I will have the litter bearers wait here. I will escort you into the avenue.”
Sheridan nodded. “You’d better bring another man. I intend to purchase many items today and may need another pair of arms.”
Neely emitted a low whistle and motioned to one of his more seasoned soldiers. As the man stepped forward, he turned back to Sheridan.
“If my lady is ready?”
She grinned. “Always.”
He and the soldier followed several feet behind Sheridan and Alys.
Their very first shop was a perfume den, a place that stank like a sheik’s harem.
Exotic oils from all over the known world filled the shelves of the dingy little shop and it wasn’t long before Alys smelled in horrible combination.
Sheridan was wise enough not to rub the oil on herself, but Alys got caught up in the goods and found herself a victim of her sister’s enthusiasm.
Neely stood by the door, watching Sheridan forcibly rub scented oil on Alys’ arm and grinning when Alys would snort and howl.
As he watched, he thought to himself that it was good to see Sheridan smile again.
She’d smiled so little since her father’s death.
Today was the first time in months he’d actually seen shades of the old Sheridan return.
It seemed like ages passed as he stood and watched them.
Finally, Sheridan settled on Gardenia and Lilac and paid extra to have the oils placed in lovely glass phials.
Alys couldn’t remember which fragrance she liked best so she settled for something that smelled like Apple Blossoms. The perfume miser wrapped the goods in dried grass and an envelope of fabric, handing them off to the happy women.
As Sheridan left the shop, she handed the packages to Neely and continued on down the avenue.
Nearing the second shop, this one of fabric goods, Alys spotted a vendor across the street selling apples cooked in honey and spices. She tore off across the street.
“Go with her,” Sheridan told Neely. “Don’t let her buy more than one. And for heaven sakes, don’t let her wander further away. There are smells all over this street that will lure her.”
Neely didn’t like leaving Sheridan, but did as he was asked. The seasoned soldier remained behind with Sheridan, posted just outside the stall door of the fabric merchant.
This stall was bigger than the perfume miser’s.
It was lined with bolts of fabric from every part of the world.
Sheridan started at one end and inspected every piece, every thread, in every bolt, until she reached the other side.
The merchant had spied her early on and had taken to following her through the accounting of his wares, answering any questions she may have.
Her questions were intelligent, usually about the country of origin and the materials used.
A fabric called Albatross was a particular favorite; it was very fine, all-wool, and favored by women in the cloister for their wimples.
Another favorite fabric was called Brocaded Brilliantine – a silk and wool mix styled in a brocade pattern.
Lastly, the merchant showed her something new from Paris called French Crepon, a delicate yet durable weave.
In a relatively short span of time, she had selected three fabrics – a Brocaded Brilliantine of deep green with a golden undertone, an Albatross of pale yellow, and a French Crepon of ruby.
The merchant also had all manner of notions to accompany the fabrics such as thread and faux decorations.
One such decoration was a bird made from sawdust and real feathers.
It looked positively alive. Delighted, Sheridan purchased it with the intent of having it paired with the ruby satin.
She also purchased a variety of delicate Irish lace, woven with golden thread as fine as a spider’s web.
Sheridan appreciated good craftsmanship, as she herself had never had a particular talent for needlework.
Handing the fabric off to the soldier waiting outside the door, she proceeded down the avenue.
The street was quite crowded by now, mostly with nobles seeking finery whilst visiting London.
For many of those from the far reaches of England, a visit to the Street of the Merchants was required lest their reputation suffer.
Street vendors dotted the street, selling soft wheat cakes, honey candy, fruit, and meat on a stick.
Sheridan looked around for Alys and finally found her at the cart of another street vendor who was selling fruited cakes.
Even across the distance, Neely caught her eye and she simply shook her head in a combination of disgust and resignation.
She didn’t blame Neely for not keeping a rein on her sister’s appetite; she’d never been able to do it very well, either.
Alys would eat herself to death some day and they’d all be to blame.
Sheridan became aware of a rumble of noise, gradually increasing in intensity.
There seemed to be some commotion on the opposite end of the street, but she couldn’t clearly see what was happening.
It looked to her as if there were a great many soldiers about.
But passing notice was all she gave it as her attention fell on the next stall.
In addition to more fabric, there were also a variety of items that had been brought from the Continent – carved wooden figurines from the land of the Norse, beaded jewelry from Greece, and little blocks of incense that looked like dirt but that, when lit, created smoke of the most wonderful scent.