Chapter 1 #3
Marris almost choked on her wine at the audaciousness of his suggestions.
Whilst her plans had involved a modest home and a future career perhaps acting as a scribe for those who could not write their own letters and records, Sir William had taken a flying leap, suggesting she trade on her connection to the Howards, then to go to court and from there into the service of the new Queen. He gave the word ambitious new meaning.
Marris had, of course, heard of the proposed alliance with the Duchy of Cleves and the King’s desire to shore up both his support abroad and his precarious dynasty at home with a new Protestant bride.
Even within the confines of the priory, it was vital to keep up with information of the outside world.
She had however scarcely imagined that it would have any impact on her life.
‘I hardly think I am qualified for so high a task,’ she said. ‘Nor can I imagine the King would countenance such a suggestion. He seems anxious to be rid of monks and nuns rather than invite them to his court.’
‘I could persuade him of the benefits of the plan.’ Sir William looked complacent.
‘As I say, who better than a noblewoman of discretion and diplomacy, one who is untainted by faction and politics? If you can manage a convent, then you can most certainly deal with the court. The two are not so different.’
Marris laughed. She could not help herself. ‘I can think of a number of fundamental differences,’ she said.
‘None that you are not equipped to deal with,’ Sir William said.
Their eyes met and for a moment Marris felt the pull of ambition and the equally strong spark of attraction.
Both were so seductive that her heart seemed to skip several beats.
‘It would enable you to find good matches for your sisters as well,’ Sir William added smoothly.
‘And even for you, should you desire it.’
‘I do not,’ Marris said firmly. Her first marriage had been a miserable business as the second wife of an elderly and ill-tempered knight, who had essentially wanted a mother for his brood of brats and an occasional bed-warmer when the mood took him.
‘No?’ There was an element of amusement in Sir William’s voice now. ‘The path of wedlock does not appeal to you? You could use your talents to run a castle rather than a priory.’
‘I have every respect for any woman who does that,’ Marris said, ‘but for me the price would be too high.’
‘Marriage being the price?’
‘Re-marriage,’ Marris corrected. ‘I was a widow before I was a nun. Besides, I am forbidden to marry even after I leave the order.’
Sir William waved a lordly hand. ‘Such niceties may be overcome.’
Everything, Marris reflected, seemed to be malleable to Sir William, with his connections and his money.
‘No thank you,’ she said. ‘I would only end once again with a widower looking for a wife to care for him when he reaches old age.’ She drained her glass.
Perhaps the wine was going to her head. She so seldom spoke her thoughts on worldly matters, but she had forgotten how strong the Spanish red could be.
‘What is there to enjoy in such a role?’ she pursued.
‘Here I have had as close to freedom as a woman may find. I will not fall from one of the most influential roles a woman may have to be the unpaid drudge of an old man.’
Sir William was definitely laughing now.
He too drained his glass – and looked around for the bottle in order to refill it.
He topped up Marris’s glass as well, without asking her.
She decided against the second glass of wine.
She could feel her cheeks burning pink beneath the veil.
She needed to remember that this was a nunnery, not a tavern.
Despite the coldness of the chamber, she felt extraordinarily hot.
‘You are not like any nun I have ever met,’ Sir William commented, watching her with an expression that only served to make her feel hotter.
‘You have met many?’ Marris asked. ‘I am surprised to hear it.’
He laughed. ‘Ah, there you have me,’ he conceded. ‘I confess it is not many, but all of those were of a pursed, prudish sort. They were brides of Christ because they were too ugly and shrivelled to be aught else.’
‘For shame, Sir William, to mock the holy sisters.’ Marris shook her head. ‘Who can blame women if we prefer the spiritual life? It asks a deal less and gives a great deal more than any mortal man could.’
‘I do believe, Reverend Mother,’ Sir William said, with his lazy smile, ‘that that is not only a harsh judgement on men, but also sacrilege.’
Once again, Marris felt the same stirring of attraction she had felt earlier, stronger this time, and all the headier for being forbidden.
This was a different sort of sin from pride or vanity.
If this was lust, she rather liked it. But she knew she should not and she knew she should end the conversation before matters went any further.
‘I doubt it is sacrilege,’ she said, ‘but I am happy to debate theology with you if you have the time, Sir William. Alas, I imagine you have far greater matters to attend upon.’
Sir William did not take the opportunity she offered him.
He was studying her with an intensity that made her shiver a little.
‘How old are you?’ he asked abruptly. ‘I cannot tell since you are wrapped up in so many layers. You seem young to be an abbess and your youngest sister can have seen barely more than fifteen summers by the look of her, and yet—’ He frowned. ‘You are too wise to be very young.’
‘I was the eldest of six children,’ Marris said. She decided to overlook his impertinence in asking. They seemed to have moved far beyond that already. ‘There are more than a dozen years between Rose and I.’
Sir William raised his brows. ‘So, you are young to be a prioress.’
Marris shrugged. ‘There was no one else. Mother Rowena died of plague two years ago and all the other nuns were either too old or unsuited to the task. The priory would have descended into chaos quickly, had I not taken over. Though I confess that the changes I brought in did upset some of the others.’ She winced, remembering Sister Margaret who had damned her as a proud upstart and stormed off to Wilton Abbey instead.
‘I expect they disapproved of your status as a widow,’ Sir William murmured. ‘You had too much worldly knowledge.’
‘Then they should have tried being married to Sir Geoffrey North,’ Marris said tartly, ‘and see how they liked it.’ She realised that she had drunk half of the second glass of wine without realising it. No wonder she was becoming so indiscreet. She moved it carefully beyond her reach.
Now it was Sir William’s turn to wince. ‘You were Sir Geoffrey’s second wife, were you? I am sorry to hear it.’
Marris brushed that aside. ‘It is of no consequence now.’
‘What is of consequence though is that I suspect you see both your siblings more as daughters and certainly as your responsibility,’ Sir William said. ‘It will be a heavy burden, when the protection of the priory is taken from you.’
‘Your point?’ All of Marris’s initial irritation rushed back at his deliberate tactlessness, but she felt some relief too. For a moment she had been in danger of being seduced by his charm. Thank God she had been saved from making a fool of herself.
Sir William shrugged. ‘It is simply that, as I mentioned, you would be better served to take advantage of both your family connections and my patronage than try to fend for yourself.’ He gave her a sly smile. ‘Surely pride is a sin?’
‘As is vanity, Sir William,’ Marris said. ‘It is a sin which takes many forms.’
He laughed, not at all offended. ‘You have me there, madam. I will admit that I do think well of myself.’ He stretched.
‘I should be gone. As you say, there is much to be done.’ He drained his wine in one gulp and stood.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘this has been an enlightening interview. Think about my suggestion – and the benefit it could bring for your sisters. Write to the Duke of Norfolk about going to court. I would be happy to support your request.’ He raised his hat with a flourish.
‘Your servant, madam. I look forward to our next meeting.’
At the doorway, he paused. ‘By the way,’ he said, ‘I would like you and your sisters to leave within the fortnight, or I shall be obliged to start the demolition of the priory around you.’
* * *
‘What is he like?’ Both Bridget and Rose were waiting in the abbess’s chamber when Marris returned and turned eager faces towards her as the door opened.
The cold air outside had steadied Marris from the effects of the Spanish wine taken so early in the morning and she felt nothing but weariness now.
She could see that both sisters wanted her to tell them that Sir William was a saint, that he had told them they could live at Winterhill forever, that nothing would change.
Damn him, with his charm and his ruthlessness.
She pulled off her veil and wimple and ran her fingers through her short, dark hair. Her head ached; she rubbed the back of her neck to try to ease it.
‘He is arrogant and full of self-importance,’ she said. And so charming and seductive that I could feel myself falling…
‘He is also handsome,’ Rose added, with a sly smile. ‘And young.’
‘Handsome is as handsome does,’ Marris snapped, falling back on a well-worn phrase from their childhoods.
‘He wishes us to leave within a fortnight so that the building work may commence. We must either find new lodgings or—’ She stopped.
She hadn’t decided whether to mention Sir William’s suggestion of going to court, but now both her sisters were looking at her, eyes round and expectant. Rose looked excited; Bridget wary.
‘Sir William encouraged me to approach our cousin, the Duke of Norfolk, with a view to providing for us,’ she said reluctantly. ‘As you know, the duke is sympathetic to the plight of the monasteries and may be prepared to find a place at court for us.’
Bridget’s face fell. Marris realised that she had been hoping for more, or perhaps for something different. ‘I thought you had already decided against asking His Grace for help,’ she said. ‘You said he was a brutal, self-serving monster—’
‘Bridget!’ Marris hushed her. It was true, she had said that and more of Thomas Howard, but she always feared that one day her middle sister would forget discretion and blurt something out with fatal results.
Fortunately, Bridget was clever. She knew when to hold her tongue, but even so it was dangerous.
‘I would like to reside in a noble household or go to court.’ Rose tossed her hair. ‘I would quickly find a rich husband.’
‘Sir William believes that too,’ Marris said dryly. ‘He thinks that both of you would be able to make advantageous marriages—’
‘I’d rather die,’ Bridget said. On occasion she could be as melodramatic as Rose. ‘I will only marry a man if he has a good library.’
‘Do not take that as the mark of a man’s character,’ Marris said.
‘The King has the best library in the country.’ She yawned.
Now that her life lacked the discipline of the convent day, she found it increasingly difficult to be purposeful.
Sir William was right; she needed a role into which she could channel her abilities.
Shaking off her lethargy – even one glass of wine had been a mistake, let alone two – she opened the drawer in her desk and took out a quill, ink and parchment.
‘So, we are agreed,’ she said briskly, reaching for the knife to sharpen the quill. ‘I shall write to the duke at once, although I doubt that we shall receive a reply before Sir William requires us to leave the priory.’
‘We shall see what fate has in store for us.’ Rose was looking dreamy, as though the future held unlimited possibilities.
‘You mean we shall see what the good Lord has in store for us,’ Bridget corrected, with a sly glance at Marris. ‘We are nuns, after all.’
Marris gave her an exasperated look, but Bridget just laughed, reaching once more for her book, pushing Rose off the settle so that the two of them fell to squabbling like infants.
‘You can go to the river and find me some goose feathers for new quills,’ Marris said. ‘This one is blunt and I cannot concentrate with the two of you distracting me.’
Bridget gave an exaggerated sigh but she put down her book readily enough, caught Rose’s arm and pulled her out of the room.
By the time they were heading down the stairs, Marris could hear them chattering away amicably enough, all quarrels forgotten.
It made her smile. Rose might have her head in the clouds and Bridget might be prickly and difficult at times, but she loved them dearly.
Now she had to do her best to secure their futures, even if it meant subduing her pride and begging for help from a distant kinsman and putting herself in the debt of that dangerous nobleman, Sir William Sharington.
She bit the end of the shabby quill rather too fiercely and it snapped off. Perhaps there might come a time when she, and the many other women in her situation, might not find themselves beholden to men for their survival. It was difficult to imagine, but one had to have hope.