The Sempster's Tale (2 page)

One of Anne’s neighbors had grumbled, “Half a ladle-full of traitors out of a bucketful of them,” nor had he been the only one who saw it that way. And when, soon after that, King Henry and his lords and all had ridden back through London on their way toward Westminster, still splendid in armor and with their banners and high-stepping horses, they were not cheered. The best they got was silence; though maybe they heard the dark, growling anger under it, because afterward, safely away in Westminster, King Henry sent for the mayor and aldermen, to order them to their faces to keep the rebels out of London, come what may.

‘Taxes!“ Master Upton two houses away from Anne along Kerie Lane had sworn. ”We pay taxes to keep the king and his lords in ermine robes, and what do we get in return? ’Look to yourselves.‘ Like we wouldn’t do that anyway, without his fool orders, God damn the lot of them, nobles and rebels and all.“

He wasn’t alone in his anger, but talk was only talk, and these past few days both that and London’s anger had eased. The rebels had not come back and, “Saye and Crowmer are still in the Tower,” Mistress Upton had said two days ago when she and Anne met in the street on their way home from marketing. “That’s something to the good out of it all.”

It was, and save for some heavy talk still going on among some folk, the general thought was the troubles would wear themselves out away in the countryside where it didn’t matter, Cade’s rebels were gone and everything was settling back to ordinary ways.

And Daved would be here tonight.

Three months ago, when he had last left her, he had not known when he would return. “It all depends on the angers between your king and the duke of Burgundy over the French war, and what happens to the trade out of Flanders because of it,” he had warned her. Then he had gone and she had settled to the waiting that made up so much of her life now, so that she had been nearly unable to believe the quick-written message brought yesterday by a boy, telling her his ship was anchored below London bridge and asking if he might come to her tomorrow in the late afternoon. She had told the boy, “Tell him yes,” and ever since had lived with her heart singing for gladness like the blackbird in the garden.

Neither the day nor even her thoughts were fully her own yet, though. She made the end-of-school as merry and brief as might be, waved Mary and Jenet good-bye from her front door, kept Lucie only while finding a small pipe of red thread in one of the shop’s baskets, and was just giving it to her to take home with her sewing when the open doorway darkened with someone coming in. Anne turned to say the shop was closed but instead said happily, “Raulyn!” as Lucie said, “Father!”

Raulyn made a gallant bow to them both, like a hero in a noble tale. “Fair ladies! May I enter, Mistress Blakhall?”

‘Enter, good sir, and be assured your welcome,“ Anne returned in kind, laughing at him. She had known Raulyn all her life; had once upon a long-gone time pined for him with a girl’s hope that their fathers, being both tailors and friends, might marry them to one another. But Raulyn’s father first apprenticed him to a mercer, then arranged his marriage to the mercer’s daughter. Anne, having never been so foolish-young that she could not tell the difference between disappointment and despair, had never imagined her heart was broken and her easy friendship with Raulyn had gone on through the years, while he became a mercer himself and married the mercer’s daughter much about the time she married Matthew.

Lucie wasn’t his own daughter, though. When the mercer’s daughter had died childless five years ago, Raulyn had married sweet Pernell, widow of another mercer, and become an indulgent stepfather to Lucie and her brother Hal. And returning Lucie’s smile, he said, “I was this end of town for other reason and thought to give this young lady company on her way home. Her dimples permitting, of course.”

Lucie fought and lost against the smile that mention of her dimples always brought and giggled as Raulyn poked a friendly finger at the nearest one. Smiling, too, Anne said, “Lucie, ask Bette if there’s any cake left for Master Grene and perhaps something to drink. If you wish?” she added with feigned innocence to Raulyn, knowing his long tooth for anything sweet.

‘I do,“ Raulyn granted with an equally feigned sigh, ”if only for courtesy’s sake.“ But when Lucie was gone into the kitchen, he cocked his head and said at Anne, ”Mind you, there’s something sweeter than cake I’d rather have.“

‘What a pity you will have to settle for cake,“ Anne said back at him firmly. His pretended lust for her was an old jest between them, started after Matthew’s death and maybe meant just a little more seriously on his side than Anne ever chose to take it. He never pressed past jesting with it, though, and abruptly let the jest go now, asking seriously instead, with a glance to be sure Lucie was not already returning, ”What I’ve truly come for is to ask if you’ve seen Hal today.“

‘Hal? No.“ Apprenticed to another mercer, Raulyn’s stepson lived in his master’s household in Rother Lane, well away across London. ”Should I have?“

‘The trouble is that no one has. He went out last night and isn’t back. Master Yarford is fit to chew his ear off. Only one, mind you. He says he wants the other to shout in when Hal comes back.“ Raulyn bent forward and said low in her own ear, ”My thought is that Hal went womaning south of the river.“ He meant Southwark, at the far end of London bridge, where the whores gathered—those that didn’t defy the law that forbade them to work in London itself. ”I think he went to try his luck but stayed too late, found the bridge gates locked against him when he would have come back, and decided he might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, as the saying goes. My guess is that he’ll show up the worse for wear, but none the worse for that.“

‘Surely not,“ Anne protested. ”Not Hal.“

‘He’s of an age for it.“

Which Hal was, being almost sixteen; but he’d been ever young for his years, with still a boy’s round face and ways. “Does Pernell know?” Anne asked.

‘She doesn’t, yet. Nor Lucie.“ Raulyn made a warning gesture just before Lucie came in, carrying a generous piece of cake and an over-full bowl of ale. Raulyn thanked her with a grave courtesy that made her giggle again. While he ate and drank he tried to persuade Anne that she wanted to buy a length of rose-colored Luye linen from him, urging, ”It would make a beautiful ground for a wall-hanging. Pearls against it would show to perfection.“

‘Where would I get pearls?“ Anne asked.

‘From me!“

Anne laughed. “You’re not a merchant for nothing, are you?”

‘I couldn’t afford to be a merchant for nothing. I’d be out on the street in poverty.“

‘So would I be if I took to buying pearls for a wall-hanging nobody has yet bought,“ Anne returned.

‘Come then, chickling,“ he said to Lucie. ”Your mother will be wondering where we are.“ But with Lucie out the door ahead of him, he turned back to say low-voiced for only Anne to hear, ”I suppose we’ll be one less at dinner tonight, with our Master Daved here with you, yes?“

A blush sweeping up her face, Anne hissed at him, “Yes!” and closed the door rudely close on his heels as he went away laughing. By law, foreign merchants like Daved and his uncle Master Bocking were supposed to stay with London merchants (and be watched by them) while about their London business. Master Bocking’s place had been with Raulyn’s late father-in-law and now—and Daved with him—was with Raulyn. It had been that way Anne had met Daved, but it was one thing for Raulyn to know about them and another for him to say it out so boldly. A little angry at both Raulyn and her betraying blush and at the same time silently laughing at herself, Anne barred the door and went past the stairs and into the kitchen.

There being only herself and Bette to the household, their meals were mostly lesser things, so Bette was humming over her cooking this afternoon, happy to have more to do; had rejoiced this morning that there were garden greens enough to make a goodly salad and talked at length about which herbs she should use on the pike she would bake for Anne and Daved’s supper. Just now as Anne came into the kitchen, she had the lid lifted from the thick earthenware pot at the back of the fire and was poking a judicious fork into the slowly cooking fish. Anne sighed at the rich smell, and Bette said, “Aye, though I say it myself, there’s not king nor duke will dine better than you and Master Weir tonight.”

Among the blessings Anne counted in her life was Bette. She had been a servant to Matthew’s parents and then to him and now was Anne’s, and they were comfortable together. Nor had she ever given sign she minded Daved in Anne’s life. All she had ever said was, “If there’s to be a man in your life, Master Weir is a good one, and all the better for not being around and in the way all the time.”

Nor did she seem to want Anne in her way, either, at present, saying briskly as she re-lidded the pot, “All’s in hand here. You’ll want to be ready for this man of yours, so take yourself upstairs. You might take that bread with you, to save carrying it up later. I still say it’s odd looking.” And had been saying so since Anne made the two loaves this morning.

Anne made no answer, only took the cloth-covered bread on its platter and went upstairs, glad at finally being able to turn whole-heartedly toward Daved and tonight. Having set the platter on the short-legged wooden chest against the wall beside the door, she closed the shutters across the front window so near the house across the way, then half-closed the gardenward window’s shutters past anyone’s seeing in, making the room into a place for her and Daved alone. Next she covered the small table in the room’s middle with her best linen tablecloth, set the cloth-covered bread on its platter in the middle, and from the chest brought out her two silver spoons and the pairs of polished pewter plates and pewter goblets and set a place either side of the table; then from the chest again brought out two new silver candlesticks, the best things she had ever bought for herself, and two slender, never-lighted beeswax candles to go with them. Carefully, hoping she had it right, she set them either side of the bread’s platter.

She had put fresh sheets smelling of lavender on the bed this morning, and then the green coverlet embroidered with summer flowers, so that was ready. She had also brought up a bucket of water to warm in the warm day, and having slipped out of her headrail and wimple and workaday gown and undergown and long chemise, she washed all over, using not her usual plain homemade soap but the dear-bought rose-scented castilian. Washcloth and water and soap slid pleasurably over her body, and she found herself thinking of Daved, wishing his merchant-journeys brought him to England in the winter, when nights were longer…

She took hold on her thoughts, finished washing and put on her new chemise she had close-embroidered with blue forget-me-nots around the neckline’s low curve and then a deep green summer gown laced up the front. She did not bother to cover her hair again, and when Bette called up the stairs that everything was ready if she wanted to fetch it, she went down barefoot, taking with her a candlestub in the battered candlestick that usually served to light her evenings. Bette lighted it for her at the kitchen fire and put it on the tray full of covered dishes that Anne picked up from the table.

Upstairs again, she had only just set the tray on the chest beside the door when the knock came at the front door and her heart seemed to go still. Her breath short and uneven, she faced the stairs, stood frozen, listening to Bette shuffle from the kitchen to the door. There was the small thud of the wooden bar being set aside, the smaller snick of the latch being lifted… and Daved’s voice lightly saying something to which Bette laughed. Anne pressed her hands over her heart with gladness and relief. He was here. He was safe.

Was on the stairs. Was in the room. Was come to a stop to look at her as she was looking at him, for them to see that all was well with them both and well between them. And at the same moment they moved toward each other, came into each others’ arms with the fierceness of matching need, their kiss and their embrace full of remembrance of passions past and promise of passions to come. All too plainly, they had not forgotten each other’s bodies, and when they drew apart, still holding to one another, Daved said, gazing down into her face, “Your loveliness never wanes, my Anne of delights. Days, weeks, months come and go, but always you are lovely.”

‘You planned those words ahead,“ Anne mock-chided him. ”You’d say them no matter what, so you might have your way with me.“

‘I never plan ahead what I’ll say to you,“ Daved protested with vast innocence. ”I’m ever too worried you’ll have changed toward me.“

Anne took his face between her hands—his beautiful face, more perfect in line and bone and flesh than any carved saint she had ever seen, framed by his dark, curling hair and enriched by his dark, brown eyes—and pressed her body to his, giving him to understand with another lingering kiss that she had not changed toward him.