Chapter 3 #3
She hesitated over whether she wished to speak with Sir William.
What was there to say? There had been a madness in her blood down by the river that day but now the madness had gone, or so she told herself.
It was better to part now before any more harm was done.
Yet his hand was on her arm and when she looked up, all he said was: ‘Please.’
It was enough. Marris let him slip her hand through the crook of his elbow and guide her through the busy streets. Perhaps it was because she was hungry and the promise of a meal was appealing. Or perhaps it was something else.
‘I came to find you that afternoon,’ Sir William said abruptly, ‘but you had already gone. Why would you run away from me after—’ Marris made a slight gesture and he stopped, as though only becoming aware of the press of people all around them.
‘I did not know what to say to you.’ She could not be anything other than honest.
‘We did not do a great deal of talking, as I recall.’ His tone was wry.
‘Do not.’ She knew that she was blushing now for she could feel the heat in her cheeks.
She was not going to discuss this, least of all in public.
And he understood. She saw the gentleness in his eyes and he briefly covered her hand with his.
It felt protective and as such was far more dangerous than any seduction.
‘Where have you been lodging these two months past?’ he asked.
‘In Wantage,’ Marris said. ‘Lady Bourchier, who was a benefactor of the priory here, most generously gave us the use of a cottage near the church. I do some secretarial work for her in return and she put in a good word for me elsewhere in the town…’ She smiled.
‘I offer my services writing letters and documents for those who have no learning, or who prefer others to read and write for them.’
‘You are a scribe.’ Sir William nodded approvingly. ‘It is a good use of your skills. I’ll wager the lawyers and clerks of Wantage are not so happy about it, though.’
Marris smiled. It was true that there had been some complaints from the professional clerks of the town who did not like to see their business undercut, especially by a woman.
Marris had been quick to appease the authorities, keeping away from legal documents and disputes, concentrating on the domestic sphere by writing letters on behalf of the lovelorn, or family news from mothers to their sons up at university.
She had also started to offer tutoring in reading and writing to the daughters of merchants, whose money enabled her to give free lessons to the poorest families in the town.
It was a different way to fulfil her calling, she supposed.
‘How do your sisters fare in their new home?’ Sir William asked.
Marris sighed unconsciously. ‘It has been difficult,’ she admitted. ‘We all live on top of one another now, with the attendant squabbles that brings, but at least we have a roof over our heads.’
‘Do they work? It is difficult for gentlewomen.’ Sir William seemed genuinely interested.
‘Bridget draws,’ Marris said, ‘although she has yet to find a benefactor for her work and paper is expensive. But she is good,’ she added quickly. ‘She can capture a likeness very well.’
‘A female artist,’ Sir William said thoughtfully. ‘She has not chosen an easy path.’
‘Is there such a thing for a woman who must earn her own living?’ Marris asked tartly. ‘Rose is a barmaid. That is no easy path either.’
Sir William almost missed his step. ‘A barmaid! By all the saints, how did that come about?’
‘Because I told her we all needed to pay our way,’ Marris said, sighing again, ‘and she told me she had no advantages other than in her face and figure. She stormed out and I feared she planned to sell herself as a harlot just to spite me, having no idea what that would really entail.’
Sir William gave a guffaw, which he quickly smothered. ‘Good Christ! What happened?’
‘I followed her to the inn,’ Marris admitted, ‘where she did indeed attract a great deal of masculine attention, so much so that they offered her a job on the spot. The landlady is a fierce old Scotswoman who swore to protect Rose’s virtue by force if necessary.
But despite those assurances—’ she spread her hands in a gesture of resignation ‘—it is not what I would have chosen for her.’
‘She should wed,’ Sir William said, ‘and quickly, so that her safety is no longer your responsibility.’
‘She has already had many offers,’ Marris said, ‘but she is holding out for better than a provincial merchant or lawyer. She loves the attention, of course. It also generates work for me,’ she added, smiling a little. ‘A number of young men have asked me to write sonnets to her on their behalf.’
‘It will end badly,’ Sir William prophesied. ‘Your pardon,’ he added hastily, seeing Marris’s expression. ‘I am only concerned that none of you should come to any harm.’
‘I agree with you,’ Marris said. ‘There could easily be trouble. I keep a knife to hand against that very chance.’
‘You can use a weapon?’ Sir William looked startled before his expression changed to rueful amusement. ‘Of course you can. I would expect nothing less of you.’
‘My father taught me,’ Marris said. ‘He had no son and I was the eldest. He frequently treated me as though I were a boy.’
Sir William’s brows shot up but this time he made no response.
They turned out of the marketplace and down a leafy lane beside the church.
On the right was John Taverner’s town house, set back from the road to make it plain he was one of the wealthiest of Winterhill’s residents with the money to set him apart from the noise and bustle of the town.
The door-keeper responded swiftly to Sir William’s imperious knock, letting them through the heavy oak gateway into the courtyard behind.
‘It is a meagre place,’ Sir William said, viewing the old house with displeasure, ‘but the best I can do here whilst I build something more appropriate. What amuses you?’ he added, hearing Marris’s snort of laughter quickly repressed.
‘Only that Mr Taverner prides himself on his home and his position here in the town,’ she said. ‘I fear that your grand new house will put a number of gentlemen’s noses out of joint, Sir William. They will all be looking to improve their property once they see yours.’
Sir William smiled wryly. ‘Forgive me. I am accustomed to something more—’ He broke off.
‘You are accustomed to country mansions and to palaces,’ Marris said. ‘I know.’
Within the dark confines of the parlour, an anxious maidservant offered them wine.
Her hands shook and Marris was reminded of Rose’s reaction to Sir William’s visit to the priory.
What was it about him that engendered such fear in people?
Physically he was a tall man, broad-shouldered and strong, it was true; she supposed that sometimes he made little effort to put people at their ease.
He expected – demanded – efficiency and obedience.
Yet she thought it was his reputation more than anything that had people quaking.
They were afraid of him even before they met him.
It was no wonder that he viewed her as something of a novelty, a woman who asked nothing from him and who spoke her mind.
And that had been before she had so unwarily let her guard down and had made love with him.
She hesitated, wondering whether coming here to the house had been a mistake.
She knew Sir William was not the man to force himself on her if she denied him but there was something between them, some intimacy, that she could not permit to develop into anything more.
She should leave now, before it was too late.
The smell of roasting beef wafted through from the kitchens and suddenly Marris felt hungry. Her new work was not lucrative; would it be so wrong to stay to eat, before wishing Sir William a polite goodbye and disappearing from his life once more?
‘You look as though you could do with a square meal,’ Sir William said bluntly, reading her thoughts, or a part of them at least. ‘The maid will be along shortly with a bowl of stew.’
‘Thank you,’ Marris said. She took the chair that he held for her, a comfortable carver with a cushioned seat.
A little silence fell between them which Sir William broke to offer her wine.
Marris declined, watching as he poured a glass for himself and came to sit across the table from her. He looked moody, she thought.
‘I would wash before we eat,’ Sir William said, ‘since I am in no state to dine with a lady—’ the building dust still clung to his clothes and his skin ‘—but I fear that were I to leave you alone you would desert me.’
‘Not until after I have eaten the stew,’ Marris said sweetly.
He laughed, shaking his head a little. ‘Of course. I trust you to keep your word.’ He stood up. ‘Excuse me for a moment, then, madam.’
He went out. A moment later the outer door slammed and she saw him in the courtyard at the pump, sluicing water over his head and body.
The maid entered with the stew and Marris drew away from the window quickly, not wanting to be caught staring at Sir William with his shirt plastered to his chest. But the girl was too wary and anxious to notice, placing the bowls and spoons carefully on the table, curtseying and backing away before she rushed back in a moment later with a trencher of bread.
Sir William reappeared in a fresh shirt and hose, rubbing his hair dry. He thanked her and the poor creature looked so terrified it made Marris want to laugh.
‘That was kind of you,’ she said, picking up her spoon, ‘although I suspect the poor girl would prefer to be invisible.’
‘Am I then so frightening?’ Sir William smiled at her, and Marris felt like a giddy girl. With his hair damp and rumpled he looked like the man she had known that day by the pool. Hastily she reminded herself not to think of that.
‘Not to me,’ she said.