I cautiously acknowledged this theory. ‘Although I have known cases where even twins, identically matched, had differing natures.’
Mistress Shepherd waved this observation aside as an irrelevance. ‘Maybe, but in this particular case I assure you that it’s true. Sir Cedric’s a humourless man, while my lady has always liked a laugh and a giggle. She’s had to school her ways, of course, over the years, to suit her husband’s humour, but Master Matt felt no such need to appease his father. So it became necessary to settle him as soon as maybe and away from Chilworth. My lady therefore conceived the notion of sending to this cousin of hers in the Duke of Gloucester’s household, and after a few weeks, back came the messenger with an offer for Master Matt to join the Duke when His Grace came south to London – for we’re off to fight the Frenchies again I understand. Ah well! That’s men for you! All they think about from the cradle to the grave is brawling and fighting. Women, now, they’ve more sense. Girls soon learn there’s better ways to go on than clawing each other’s eyes out. Women generally don’t like violence.’
‘I’ve known several exceptions,’ I answered grimly; but once again I did not enlarge upon the subject. ‘Have you found anything that takes your fancy?’ I asked to divert her.
My hostess sighed. ‘It’ll have to be this bone-handled knife and this pair of hempen laces. It’s what I need and we’ve little enough money to spend on gewgaws. Tell me the price and I’ll settle with you, then you can be on your way to the manor. Those gloves’ll find a good home there, for Sir Cedric, for all he’s so stiff-backed and can’t stand levity, is an indulgent husband.’ She sighed a second, more gusty sigh. ‘Some women, chapman, are luckier than others.’
I laughed and, not wishing to be the recipient of marital confidences, said hurriedly, ‘I’m sure your goodman would do the same by you if it were possible.’ I named as reasonable a sum as I could for the knife and laces, put the money in my purse and made the shepherd’s wife a present of a reel of thread, which she accepted with gratitude.
‘You’re a good lad. I could see that the moment you walked through that door. Now, be off with you, for you’ve eaten my man’s supper and I’d best make another oatcake before he comes home and demands his victuals.’
Nevertheless, in spite of the need for haste, she accompanied me to the cottage door and stood there, waving, until I had turned a bend in the downhill track and was lost to her view.
Beside the stream, the shepherd had finished his work. The boy was seated on the grass of the opposite bank, yawning with boredom and scratching his flea-bitten neck while he waited for the animals’ fleeces to dry. The shepherd himself was driving the lambs across the little ford he had created to reunite them with their mothers.
‘Mind you,’ he told me, chuckling, ‘they won’t all find ’em. Stupid creatures, sheep, but it’s a good thing, really. It helps to wean the little ’uns.’ He picked up a spade and began to demolish the dams he had made, and the stream, which higher up had been threatening to overflow its banks, now came rushing through its proper channel. ‘Did my woman find what she wanted?’
‘She did,’ I assured him. I thought it wisest not to mention the fact that I had eaten his supper. ‘I’m off, then, to the Manor House. I’ve some gloves Lady Wardroper might wish to buy.’
‘Good luck to you,’ the shepherd said. ‘Follow the bank on this side of the stream for a while until you come to a willow whose branches lean over almost to the opposite bank. Strike inland there. You’ll see the track across the meadow, and on the other side of a little rise you’ll see the house.’
I thanked him heartily, he bade me God speed and even the boy managed to raise a hand in valediction. On this amicable note we parted.
I had been ushered into Lady Wardroper’s solar as soon as news of my presence had been conveyed to her by one of the maids. The steward, a tall, emaciated man with grey hair and a watery, suspicious eye, had looked disapproving; but my guide, who had informed me in a giggling undertone that her name was Jennet, said that wouldn’t deter her mistress.
‘For my lady doesn’t care two pins for Master Steward, and she’s as bored as she can be, stuck down here in the country all summer. Sir Cedric had promised to take her to London, but he’s gone back on his word now that the King is away to France. Master says London won’t be fit for a decent woman with all those men there. He says licentiousness’ll be rife.’ Once again she giggled. ‘Don’t think Mistress would have minded. She’d’ve been well looked after in any case, but when Sir Cedric says “no” ’e means it.’
I ducked my head beneath an arch and followed the girl up a shallow flight of steps.
‘He’s probably worrying unnecessarily,’ I agreed, ‘for most of the levies have been marshalling in Kent, at Barham Down near Canterbury. Or so I’ve been informed by several people coming from that direction. But Sir Cedric probably knows his own business best.’
‘Ay, like I told you, no one’ll budge him once ’e’s made up his mind.’ Jennet paused outside an iron-studded door. ‘And the fact that only three days since, this Monday past, his own son rode off to London to join the Duke of Gloucester’s household there is enough to convince the Master as ’e’s right. For the Duke’s off to France ’imself in a couple o’ weeks.’ She knocked on the door.
A sweet voice bade us enter.
Lady Wardroper was seated in a carved armchair beside the empty hearth, a piece of embroidery lying idly in her lap. She was a pretty woman with soft blue eyes and a delicately bowed mouth, at present pouting with discontentment. A strand of dark, almost black hair had escaped from the back of her cap and lay curling gently across one shoulder. She had very pale skin, so pale that it needed none of the white lead which fashionable ladies used to lighten their complexions. But her forehead was shaved to a high, arched dome, indicating that she had not abandoned all pretension to modishness in spite of her seclusion. She wore a loose-sleeved gown of deep-blue silk, gathered at the waist with a belt of cinnamon-coloured velvet, the tips adorned with sapphire-encrusted tags of silver-gilt. She had rings on almost every finger and an ivory rosary hung about her slender neck.
She looked up as Jennet ushered me into the room and laid aside her embroidery. Her face, a moment ago so discontented, was suddenly wreathed in smiles. She had, I noticed, the most engaging dimple.
‘Chapman!’ she exclaimed, clapping her hands together and seeming a little taken aback, as people so often were, by my size and youthfulness. She laughed uncertainly. ‘Goodness! How tall you are. Pray sit down, there, in that chair opposite, or you’ll quite overwhelm me. Now,’ she went on a trifle breathlessly, ‘what do you have in your pack?’
For the third time that day I emptied its contents and laid them out for inspection. Lady Wardroper carefully scrutinized every item, but I could see that her eyes were drawn back time and again to the violet leather gloves. At last she put out a hand and fingered them.
‘They’re not new,’ I informed her quickly, before she had time to make the point herself. ‘You’ll note that the left thumb is somewhat rubbed on the tip.’
She gave me a smile. ‘I had noticed, and wondered if you’d be honest enough to tell me, especially as the mark is so slight. So how did you come to acquire them?’ When she had listened to my story she nodded understandingly. ‘Many people have felt the pinch of raised taxation this year, I know. Happily, Sir Cedric – my husband – has been able to weather the storm without any fear of drowning, but others less fortunate than we are have been unable to keep their heads above water.’ She studied me thoughtfully. ‘You look an honest fellow so I trust you gave this poor gentlewoman a fair price?’ I named the sum and she seemed satisfied. ‘More than sufficient. Very well! What will you ask of me, if I decide to buy?’