[Roger the Chapman 05] - Eve of Saint Hyacinth (2 page)

The butcher's wife looked sympathetic and laid a consoling hand on my wrist. I smiled as gratefully as I knew how, not wishing to betray the truth: that Lillis and I had been married only eight short months, not long enough, at least on my part, for pity and guilt to burgeon into love. Would my hostess have been as shocked as I often was myself to know that, at times, I could barely recall the details of my dead wife's face?

Perhaps not, for she said encouragingly, 'You must marry again as soon as you can. A handsome lad such as yourself should have no trouble. There's girls falling over themselves, I shouldn't wonder, to tumble into bed with you.' She paused, laughing. 'Now, what have I said to make a great lummox like you choke and blush?' She rose from her seat to fetch me a second helping of trotters, saying over her shoulder, 'A pity my own girl isn't here to take you in hand for she's a preference for sizeable men.' She chuckled, ladling the steaming food from cauldron to plate.

'Which she gets from me, I don't need to tell you. For my Amice is as small-boned and short of height as I am myself, yet out of all my suitors I picked John Gentle, and him you've seen, for he must have sent you round here.' Mistress Gentle resumed her seat beside me and smiled with satisfaction as I once again eagerly picked up my knife.

'I like a man with a wholesome appetite. Now... what was I saying?'

'You were - er - talking about your daughter. But,' I added hopefully, 'Mistress Amice, I gather, is away from home?'

My companion heaved a sigh. 'She is that, and I miss her sorely. But,' she went on, both voice and face suddenly full of pride, 'I've no cause to grieve for her absence, as my goodman keeps reminding me, for my Amice is well settled in life, and with a very important household.' Mistress Gentle's tone deepened dramatically, taking on a hushed and reverent tone. 'She's a seamstress with - well, do you want to guess who with?' I muttered that I was bad at guessing and desired her to enlighten me, which she was more than willing to do. '
With none other than the Duchess of York herself !
The King's own mother! There! What have you to say to that?'

I am certain that I could have found no words sufficient to gratify her maternal pride, but fortunately my looks said everything for me. And I was indeed impressed.

'How did Mistress Amice come by such a place?' I asked, and I even stopped eating long enough to look towards the butcher's wife and pause for her answer.

She smiled fondly. 'My Amice was always a pretty behaved young girl, and clever with her needle - which is something that she doesn't get from me, for I've never been more than a good, plain sewer. I can set a stitch in my man's shirts when necessary, or make myself a new gown or apron, but as for anything fancy, I haven't the knack. But my husband's mother, Amice's granddam, she had magic in her hands when it came to a needle and embroidered many a cope and chasuble for the churchmen hereabouts before she was called to her Maker. She taught my Amice all she knew and my Amice was a willing pupil. I believe she’s even cleverer at embroidering than her granddam was. Lady Wardroper thought so, at all events. It was she who recommended my girl to one of her friends who, in turn, put in a word for Amice with Duchess Cicely's steward when Her Grace was looking for a new seamstress and embroiderer.'

I had by now returned to my meal and was sucking the last of the bones clean of its succulent flesh and licking the gravy from my fingers. But I was interested in the little tale, having once, four years earlier, met the formidable woman who was mother to our royal princes, although I had no intention of mentioning the fact: it would have involved me in too long a story.

Instead, 'Who is Lady Wardroper?' I inquired.

'The wife of Sir Cedric Wardroper of Chilworth Manor. That's a mile or so to the north and east of the city, close by the chandler's ford. Amice embroidered an altar cloth for the Chilworth chapel and Lady Wardroper was so impressed by its beauty that she would have taken the child to work for herself, but she had no real need of her. Nevertheless, she was swift to noise abroad my Amice's talents - with the happy result that I've just told you.'
 

'Lady Wardroper sounds a kind woman.' I licked my left thumb clean of the last gout of gravy and rubbed my sticky hands together.

'A true gentlewoman,' my hostess agreed warmly. 'And by a strange chance her only child - as Amice is ours - her son, Matthew, set out for London this Monday past, to take up a position in the Duke of Gloucester's household. I know it for a fact because I met one of the cookmaids from Chilworth Manor at Saint Lawrence's market yesterday morning, and she told me. So Amice and Master Wardroper will be under the same roof for a week or more, because it seems Duke Richard is staying with his mother at this great house of hers by the Thames.'

'Baynard's Castle,' I murmured. 'I heard along the way that the Duke had come down from the north with his levies, but my informant thought him to be at Canterbury, at Barham Down.'

Mistress Gentle shrugged. 'I know nothing of that. But Audrey was certain that it was to London young Master Matthew had gone, and to this place that you mentioned. And by another strange chance John and I had received a message from Amice only two hours previously. She'd sent it by a carter coming in this direction from Duchess Cicely's castle at Berkhamsted, to say that the household was moving to London within the next few days. The carter couldn’t remember the name of the house where they were to lodge, but otherwise he'd learned everything off by heart. He was smitten with my girl, I fancy, judging by the trouble he'd taken to make sure he had her message aright. She's a good child, and even though she can neither read nor write - well, who amongst us can, eh, chapman? - she does her best to let her father and me know where she is. For the gentry are forever trotting around the countryside, like they can't be still for a second. Not that Duchess Cicely's greatly given to such junketing, by all accounts, but I dare say she feels she should be in London in time of war.'

I nodded. 'She would no doubt wish to see her three sons safely off to France. And it makes sense that Duke Richard will be staying with her at Baynard's Castle. He always does so when he's in the capital.'

'You know that for a fact, do you?' my hostess asked and, glancing round, I saw that her smile was slightly mocking.

'So I've been told by those that might be reckoned in the know,' I answered. Once again I felt that to admit to having met His Grace of Gloucester twice, and to having been of service to him on both occasions, would embroil me in lengthy explanations which, anxious to be on my way, I would rather not embark on. 'That was an excellent meal, Mistress, even better than it smelled; something, half an hour ago, I would have deemed impossible. Now, to complete our business!' And I picked up my pack, opening it and spreading its contents out on I he table.

In payment for the food she chose a small, carved wooden bobbin containing three needles and a spool of line white thread which might, I considered, have cost her somewhat more in the market-place than she would have charged me for the plate of pig's trotters. However, l had suggested the bargain and could not cavil at it now.

She cast a longing eye over my other wares, particularly struck by a pair of scented leather gloves the deep, rich colour of violets. Like my warm leather jerkin, lined with scarlet, I had obtained them in exchange for more necessary goods, this time from the wife of an impoverished gentleman living in Dorset. The lady had been loath to part with one of her few remaining pieces of finery, but the family had fallen upon hard times and needs must when the Devil drives. I was pleased to think that I had dealt generously with her.

Mistress Gentle sighed regretfully, running one fingertip over the soft, silk-like sheen of the leather, but decided that the gloves would be of no use to her.

'John would most certainly buy them for me if I asked him,' she assured me earnestly, 'but when would I have cause to wear such things?' She regarded her red and work roughened hands for a disparaging moment, before thrusting them into her apron pocket. 'No, they'd be laid away in lavender and never see the light of day. Put them back in your pack, chapman, before temptation gets the better of me and I persuade my husband, contrary to his good judgement as well as my own, to purchase them.' She looked on wistfully as the gloves were folded away again, before adding with sudden inspiration, 'When you leave here, go to Chilworth. The chandler's ford's not more than five or six mile north by east of S'ampton and I'd lay money you'll find a willing buyer in Lady Wardroper. Very proud of those delicate white hands of hers, she is. And she has an elderly, doting husband in Sir Cedric.'

I thanked her for her advice and took my leave. She seemed a little reluctant to let me go and, I fancy, would have detained me further but that a shout from outside warned her of the advent of yet another diner. I shouldered my pack and followed her to the door, where I made my escape. The two goodwives had by now departed and the butcher was standing in the mouth of the alleyway, touting for trade. We exchanged a few words and I congratulated him on the quality of his meat, but he was too busy watching out for fresh custom to waste much time on one already satisfied.

'Your wife advises me to make for Chilworth Manor,' I said as a parting shot and he nodded.

'You'd probably be wise to do as she says. Sir Cedric's very plump in the pocket. They're one of the best-known families in these parts. Honest, English-speaking people. Well, the menfolk are. Saw young Matthew only last week, just before he left for London. Said they'd been entertaining a travelling singer - same one as came here looking for food, I reckon - but as all his songs had been in French, he couldn't understand a word of them. But Lady Wardroper, now, she's different. She has a few words of the language.'
 

I gave him good-day, deciding that I would follow Mistress Gentle's recommendation, especially as a northeasterly direction must bring me eventually to Winchester, and so on to the London road. Moreover, I would need a berth for the night, which might well be found in the Manor kitchen. It was not long past eleven o'clock, so if I walked briskly, not stopping to sell my wares, I could probably reach Chilworth by late afternoon without much difficulty.

I settled my pack more comfortably on my back, turned my feet in the direction of Southampton's East Gate, and as I walked, began to whistle in my customary tuneless fashion. For I have never had any ear for music and don't suppose that I ever shall.

Chapter Two

The afternoon was well advanced by the time I approached Chilworth Manor. This lay a mile or two east of the ford, close to the banks of a small stream, tributary to the River Itchen.

It was a beautiful day, the wind blowing fresh and sweet across the meadows. Smoke rose from cottage chimneys iridescent as a rainbow and the sky was a swimming lake of deepest blue, smudged here and there by soft white clouds.

The clang of a blacksmith's hammer sounded a joyful carillon of anvil blows and the rise of pasture, away to the west, was rinsed by blue-veined shadows. The stream flowed softly between its fringe of rushes and I could see clear down to the bed of gravel underneath. Daisies and the golden cups of celandine starred the straggling grasses.

Suddenly the flow of water began to diminish until it dwindled into the merest trickle. Rounding a bend by some willow stumps, I came upon the reason. A shepherd had dammed the stream in two places to form a pool and was washing his flock, assisted by a stout lad with hard red cheeks and a surly, disgruntled expression. It was the boy's job to drag the reluctant animals one by one into the water, where the shepherd stood thigh-deep, removing the foul and loose wool from around the udders and thoroughly washing the fleece. When he had finished examining the beast's mouth and ears, the sheep scrambled up the opposite bank to join its fellows, where it dripped and shivered miserably, regarding him with a wide and baleful stare for having been subjected to such indignity. The lambs, separated from their dams, cried piteously.

I greeted the shepherd and his assistant cheerfully. 'God be with you both! Am I on the right path for Chilworth Manor?'

The lad made no reply, but the older man paused in his work and nodded. 'You are that. You're on demesne land now. The house is about half a mile further on from here. Are you a chapman?'

'I am. And hoping to sell some of my wares to Lady Wardroper, who was recommended to me as a likely patroness by a butcher's wife in Southampton.'
 

The shepherd laughed. 'Mistress Gentle, I'll be bound. A good woman, always willing to help others. Her daughter, Amice, did some sewing and embroidery for my lady at one time, before she went away from home.' He turned back to the ewe he was washing and began to prise her jaws apart. The animal, justly incensed by such treatment, tried to rear up and place her two front feet against his chest, but the man moved closer, skilfully frustrating the attempt.

'Got to watch this one,' he said. 'She's old and up to all the tricks. Many's the soaking I've had from her in my time, when she was a bit younger and spryer than she is today.' When the ewe was done and had proceeded, stately with outrage, to the opposite shore, the shepherd signalled to the boy to halt a moment and turned to face me. 'My cottage is close by here. Before you go on to the Manor House, do you have time to visit my wife? She was complaining only yesterday that we've had no pedlar pass this way for several weeks, and as a consequence she's short of various items. She's broken the blade of her kitchen knife and she's also in need of a pair of good, stout laces, if you've such a thing in your pack.'