Chapter Five
City of London
The city seemed quite crowded.
It was a fine day, bright and sunny, with a scattering of puffy clouds across the sky.
The smell from the river, from the fish markets, was heavy upon the wind, as it usually was later in the day when the breeze blew in from the east and carried the stench of the Thames over the city.
But that same breeze also cleared out the smoke from the cooking fires that tended to linger, sometimes creating a choking fog that could stagnate for days.
But not today.
Today was a perfect day and Cleodora was enjoying it immensely.
Riding in a carriage that was painted white and yellow, the colors of the Archbishop of Cambridge, she sat in the cab behind gossamer curtains over the windows, translucent fabric so that she could see out but others couldn’t see in.
She was always to remain enigmatic—especially out in public.
Cambridge didn’t like anyone but him to gaze upon her beauty, which was why outings like this were so rare.
Cleodora was soaking up every moment of it.
She loved to people-watch. The city of London was an interesting place, with diverse groups coming and going.
The journey from Thornhill wasn’t a long one, but they passed on the outskirts of the Jewish section of London as well as the Street of the Bankers, and that afforded her an abundance of people to see.
Cambridge had once told her that this area of the city smelled of money, and while she couldn’t really smell coin, the smithies and their hot furnaces to the east would sometimes be caught up in the breeze and the scent of hot metal would waft through the streets.
Since coin was metal, it did, indeed, smell of money at times.
“’Tis very busy today, my lady,” Filly said from her perch on the other side of the bench. “Look at all of the people!”
Through the haze of fabric, Cleodora could see that for herself. “I wonder where they are all going?” she murmured. “I wonder… Look at some of the women. They seem so very determined.”
Filly was trying to see what Cleodora was referring to. “You mean the goodwives?” she said. “The town women?”
Cleodora was focused on one lady in particular who was walking several feet away, basket in hand and a small boy in tow. The child was upset and the mother was dragging him along, obviously determined to get where they were going.
“Aye,” she said after a moment, watching the sun glint off the blond hair of the little boy. “What do you suppose it feels like to have a husband you are fond of and children who love you? I should think it would make a woman feel quite wanted. Needed. Happy, even.”
Filly sat back in her seat, now looking from the opposite side of the carriage. “I suppose,” she said. “But it must be a difficult life.”
“Why?”
Filly shrugged. “I watched my mother with my brothers and sisters,” she said. “There were fourteen of us, you know.”
“Fourteen?”
“Aye.” Filly nodded. “My mother never had a moment to herself. Too many little scraps running about at her feet, hanging on her, weeping all of the time and causing trouble. Does that sound like happiness?”
Cleodora grinned. “It might,” she said. “After all, those troublemakers are your children and you love them. I would be happy with children.”
“You would?”
“I think so.”
Filly turned to look at her, watching Cleodora’s features as she thought about children of her own. But they both knew that kind of thing was out of the realm of possibility, at least at the moment.
At least as long as she remained the Pearl.
“Then mayhap you’ll be blessed someday, my lady,” she said quietly. “Mayhap a handsome man will sweep you away and you’ll have twenty children and a lifetime of happiness.”
Cleodora smiled weakly. “Twenty children is far too many,” she said. “I would be happy with one child or ten children. I would be happy with… with anything as long as it was mine.”
Filly couldn’t encourage that way of thinking.
With the situation Cleodora was in, there was no use in dwelling on that which could not be changed.
The little maid had been with Cleodora since she came to the archbishop as a beautiful, high-trained, highly educated young woman who was seemingly terrified of the circumstances she found herself in.
A young woman Filly felt a good deal of pity for.
As the Pearl, Cleodora was a status symbol, one that the archbishop was desperate to have even if he didn’t use her as men usually used a courtesan.
To Filly’s knowledge, the archbishop had never bedded Cleodora, but he had forced her to do things that courtesans usually did—intimate things, mostly involving Cleodora lying naked as he sat in a chair, stared at her, and stroked his own member to satisfaction.
That was the extent of his attention toward her, at least physically, because the rest of the time, he was simply dressing her in silver and white and claiming that she must always appear pure and radiant.
Secretly, Filly always thought that the archbishop saw Cleodora as a living version of the Virgin Mary, or even an angel. Something pristine and untouchable.
But he liked it that way.
As Filly mulled over the odd relationship the archbishop had toward the Jewel he was in possession of, the carriage suddenly lurched to a halt.
“Look,” Cleodora said, trying to keep her excitement at bay. “We have arrived!”
Indeed, the carriage had come to a halt in front of the shop of one of the most prestigious dressmakers in town.
Her name was Adelie and she had apprenticed in Paris under a master tailor by the name of Benard of St. Pierre.
She had married a merchant and come to London, where they’d opened their own dressmaking shop.
For the highborn of London, Adelie was the woman to seek for their couture needs.
It was a status symbol in itself, having an Adelie garment, and the Pearl had many.
The door to the carriage popped open and there stood the archbishop’s knight, Sir Neville le Baume.
He was a former priest, a very large man with impeccable grooming, and he’d never said more than three words to Cleodora the entire time she’d been with the archbishop.
Even now, Neville opened the carriage door and silently indicated for her to exit.
He didn’t have to say a word and probably wouldn’t.
He simply extended a hand to her and Cleodora took it, allowing the man to help her from the cab.
Adelie’s was right in front of her.
Feeling excited, Cleodora went straight into the place of business, which was the bottom floor of the three-storied wattle-and-daub building.
The second and third floors overhung the first, extending the square footage of those levels as was customary, but the ground floor was still quite large.
As soon as Cleodora stepped through the door, her nostrils were met by the smell of wool and dust and vinegar, which was used for dyes.
Immediately, she was greeted by Adelie’s well-dressed servant.
“My lady.” The girl with ribbons in her hair bowed respectfully. “The archbishop sent word ahead. We were watching for his standards so we could greet you when you arrived.”
Cleodora had seen the servant girl once before and she nodded politely. “I’ve come for the garment that the archbishop has commissioned,” she said. “Is it ready?”
The servant nodded quickly. “Aye, my lady,” she said. “Please come with me so that you may try it on.”
Cleodora did. The garment was a magnificent piece with silver fabric and pearls sewn into a pattern on the neckline and bodice.
The sleeves were long and belled and a hood was attached, meant to be worn with a pearl headpiece that draped over her forehead.
The skirt was layers upon layers of fine fabric, all of it perfectly cut and flowing.
She looked like a goddess in it and once the final adjustments were made, mostly to the bodice, the garment was removed and carefully packed for transport.
Filly, who had followed Cleodora into the fitting, was instructed in great detail on how to dress her mistress in it.
As the packing and instructions went on, Cleodora donned her pale blue wool again and wandered out into the main part of the shop.
Dressmakers were mostly supplied with fabric for the garments they made by the people they were making the clothing for, but in Adelie’s case, she also imported fabric from France and other countries.
There was a fine selection of it against one wall, including an iridescent fabric that was both blue and green.
It was draped over a form carved from wood that was meant to mimic a woman’s torso, and as Cleodora stopped to admire it, men began to pour in through the entry.
Knights.
Her little errand to the dressmaker was about to become… interesting.