‘I understand,’ I said gently, taking the beaker from her and cupping it between my hands.
‘Yes.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘So, to continue. Fortunately perhaps, for Rosamund, the marriage did not last long. My little Andrew was born the year following the wedding, at the beginning of May, and Mary thirteen months later, but by then Sir Henry was already dead.’
‘How did he die?’
‘He was killed, defending his lands in the north, two months or so before Mary was born. I can’t recall all the details now, but it was the beginning of greater trouble in the autumn, when the Earl of Warwick captured the King and held him prisoner in Pontefract Castle. There had been rumours during the Christmas feast that all was not well between King Edward and the Earl, but no one could quite believe it. They were close kinsmen and had been like blood brothers for so long.’
I nodded. ‘I remember.’ At the time, I had recently entered upon my novitiate, and the news of such stirring events, penetrating even the abbey’s hallowed walls, had relieved my boredom, and distracted me from my growing conviction that, whatever my mother’s wishes, I could never tolerate the religious life. ‘It was the beginning of the road which eventually led Warwick into the Lancastrian camp and his death, less that two years later, on Barnet Field.’
‘Your grasp of events is better than mine. But I do know that in the spring, before the King’s captivity, there were insurrections in Yorkshire, because Sir Henry was summoned by his elder son to return and protect his property. It was during a skirmish with the rebels that he was killed.’
‘You had remained in London with your cousin throughout her marriage?’
Grizelda replied with dignity, ‘I looked after little Andrew. I was his nurse.’
I made no comment, but it was apparent to me that the relationship between the two women had inevitably altered on Rosamund’s marriage. They could no longer continue on an equal footing, and the impoverished and dowerless Grizelda had been relegated to a subordinate role.
My thoughts must have shown in my face, for she said quietly, ‘It meant much to me that I was still needed. I could so easily have been sent packing back to my father, but Rosamund wanted me to stay. And in private, nothing had changed between us. We continued to be friends and confidantes.’
‘And after Mary was born, you returned to Devon, to live with Sir Jasper.’
Grizelda smiled. ‘You speak with confidence: Jacinta seems to have told you a great deal. But yes, you’re right. We came home, and I, for one, was glad. I disliked London, a dirty, noisy place. And more traffic crowding the roads in one day than you would see in six months in Totnes. For over a twelvemonth, we were settled and happy, and I had the maid, Bridget Praule, to help with the care of the children. You met her grandam yesterday morning, at the hocking.’
‘I recollect,’ I said feelingly. ‘What happened, then, to disturb you at the end of a year?’
‘Sir Jasper died suddenly on Corpus Christi Eve. He was in the counting-house, talking to his clerk, when he just fell to the floor with a terrible groan and was taken up dead. Two months later, my own father died of a rheum, too much neglected, which turned to a fever and carried him off within a few days. I would have returned to the holding then, as my duty dictated, but Rosamund begged me to remain and continue to look after the children. They knew and loved me, she said, as I knew and loved them. And indeed, with all my partiality, I have to admit that she was not a good mother. She was by nature too indolent and selfish. So, I stayed. As you already know, I let Innes Woodsman run the holding for me in return for free lodging, and in this way, life continued for another two years. There were a number of suitors for Rosamund’s hand during that time, as you would expect with such a wealthy young widow, especially one who, thanks to Master Thomas Cozin, was growing even richer. But none of them was successful. Not one was the man she wanted. And then in late summer, three years since, she decided to go to London to stay awhile with some former neighbours in Paternoster Row: a Ginèvre Napier and her husband, Gregory. Gregory Napier is a goldsmith with a shop in West Cheap, between Foster Lane and Gudrun Lane.’
‘But you and the children did not go with her?’
‘No. Rosamund had grown bored. She was restless for excitement, diversity. She said she was growing old before her time. It so happened, that August, that an elderly and respectable couple from the other side of the river, old friends of Sir Jasper, were travelling to London to visit their married daughter who lived in the Bread Street Ward, so Rosamund went with them. She was supposed to come back with them, also, three weeks later, but when Master Harrison and his goodwife called for her on the homeward journey, Rosamund told them that Ginèvre had urged her remain longer with her and her husband, and that she would make her own arrangements for returning to Totnes. That was the message they delivered, not without some distress, for I think they felt responsible for her. Nor did they care overmuch for Ginèvre Napier, I could tell, both by their manner and the way they talked about her. But there was nothing they could do. Rosamund was responsible to nobody but herself for her actions.’
Grizelda sighed, paused and then continued, ‘She did not come home until October, the end, for it was only a day or so before All Hallows’ Eve when she arrived in a splendid new wagonette, upholstered inside with velvet cushions, and with velvet curtains across the windows to keep out the cold. She was not alone. There was a man with her. As she descended from the wagon, the children ran to greet her. “My dearlings,” she said, stooping to kiss them, “this is your new father, Mamma’s new husband, Master Eudo Colet.”’
There was a profound silence in the cottage, and I became aware once more of the birds singing in the trees outside. I could also hear the snorting and snuffling of a herd of pigs, as their owner drove them into the forest to root for beechmast and truffles. A man’s voice called a greeting, to which Grizelda responded. Then the silence drifted back, deeper than before.
I had a vivid, mind’s eye picture of the scene my companion had just conjured up for me, the wagonette drawing up to the door, the horses blowing steam in the cold, wintry air, the two children running excitedly to greet their mother, who had been absent for so many months and had now, at last, returned to them. I saw Rosamund – or, at least, the likeness I had created in my imagination – descend from the carriage and stoop for their embrace. And, behind her, making a leisurely descent, was the shadowy figure of an unknown man.
‘What happened then?’ I inquired at last.
‘Nothing.’ Grizelda spoke sharply. ‘What could happen? She had married him, and he had the marriage lines to prove it. He was our new master, the children’s stepfather. We had to accept it.’
‘But you didn’t like him,’ I said quietly, when she appeared reluctant to say anything further.
‘I hated him from the first.’ Her voice was low, but vehement.
‘You must have had a reason,’ I urged, after another silence.
Grizelda shifted on the bench, easing her back against the wall. She seemed to relax suddenly, as though relieved to be able to talk openly at last to a sympathetic stranger.
‘But that was just the trouble. I had no good reason for the way I felt about Eudo Colet, except an instinctive mistrust of the man. There was something about him from the very start that made me sure he was of peasant stock. Oh, my bucko looked very fine in the rich clothes that undoubtedly Rosamund had bought for him. But he wasn’t comfortable in them. He was unused to such finery and paraded it like a peacock, whereas a gentleman who always wore that kind of apparel would have thought nothing of it. And it was the same when he bestrode a horse. Oh, he could ride, but he had a heavy hand on the bridle and the bit tore at the animal’s mouth. He had been used to sturdier animals, working beasts, not the mettlesome horseflesh in Rosamund’s stables.’