his ward a husband. There’d been no shortage of candidates when he’d canvassed the idea amongst his colleagues; many of the English merchants had sons looking for a well-dowered wife and some were widowers searching for their next spouse. Anne was more than welcome under these circumstances; each of them would be delighted to educate this girl and turn her away from such unsuitable,
unfeminine
notions as working for a living, whilst at the same time, the lucky husband could also secure more working capital. And there was the question of the girl’s body, which, they had all noted — including their jealous wives — was very fair, another useful adjunct to any marriage.
Caxton grimaced. Snatching a quick glance down at Anne, he knew his own feelings for this girl were far from fatherly. Still, she’d listen to reason, he felt sure. He’d always found her reasonable.
Chapter Six
‘I thank you for your kind thoughts of my well-being, but I have no wish to marry at the moment, Master William.’
Anne smiled pleasantly, but she was quite definite as she broke her fast with the English merchant after mass in Sir Mathew’s hall. She had no need to tell the merchant her own, secret reasons for such a radical stance, but they were profound. After her experiences at Edward’s court in London, she was deeply reluctant to trust any man to control her life — and that of her son — unless it was on her terms, an unlikely thing in most marriage contracts.
As they talked, William was slightly distracted at this, his first sight of Mathew Cuttifer’s new house, for it was fine indeed. The hall smelt fragrantly of beeswax rubbed into the honey-coloured oak furniture that had been brought from England; the colours too were harmonious and simple, with walls either a rich sepia or washed with rose, and the great hall itself had a ceiling painted a dense, dark blue powdered with gilded stars. William noticed the pretty device for the first time as he leant back and looked up, thinking of what he must next say to his hostess. He’d have to concentrate for he was more than replete and the excellent small-beer added a pleasant, warm buzz of excitement increased by the girl sitting beside him. He’d always appreciated beauty.
He stole a glance at his hostess. Her composure told him nothing as she finished the last of the venison pastie she’d been served. William was impressed by that venison — she’d been personally sent a splendid haunch from Duke Charles’ most recent kill in his game preserves around Brugge, and Maitre Flaireau had made excellent use of every scrap of the generous gift.
Strange that a pie should represent so much. It testified to Anne’s standing with the new duke as Sir Mathew’s ward — he and Duke Charles’ father, Duke Phillip, had been friends of long standing — and, perhaps, it contained a message about her future because it was a most generous gift, a sign of great favour.
Anne must have served it to him with a purpose — perhaps she wanted him to spread the news to his colleagues that she was not without friends. And perhaps it meant that some of the rumours he’d heard about Charles and Anne really were true — he’d have to find a way to ask her tactfully. Though it was an odd thought, considering what he had to tell her shortly.
‘Father, if you’ve eaten sufficient of what this house can offer, perhaps you would bless us all before we go about our work?’
Anne had one other guest this morning, an Italian Franciscan monk. Personally, Caxton regarded all friars and monks of the mendicant orders as pests, especially if they were Franciscans. For followers of the most humble of God’s servants — as Saint Francis saw himself — they could be mighty arrogant and venal sometimes: parasites, and corrupters of women.
Therefore he’d been surprised to find this Friar Giorgio waiting for Anne on their return and even more surprised to see the honour with which this unexpected
unfeminine
notions as working for a living, whilst at the same time, the lucky husband could also secure more working capital. And there was the question of the girl’s body, which, they had all noted — including their jealous wives — was very fair, another useful adjunct to any marriage.
Caxton grimaced. Snatching a quick glance down at Anne, he knew his own feelings for this girl were far from fatherly. Still, she’d listen to reason, he felt sure. He’d always found her reasonable.
Chapter Six
‘I thank you for your kind thoughts of my well-being, but I have no wish to marry at the moment, Master William.’
Anne smiled pleasantly, but she was quite definite as she broke her fast with the English merchant after mass in Sir Mathew’s hall. She had no need to tell the merchant her own, secret reasons for such a radical stance, but they were profound. After her experiences at Edward’s court in London, she was deeply reluctant to trust any man to control her life — and that of her son — unless it was on her terms, an unlikely thing in most marriage contracts.
As they talked, William was slightly distracted at this, his first sight of Mathew Cuttifer’s new house, for it was fine indeed. The hall smelt fragrantly of beeswax rubbed into the honey-coloured oak furniture that had been brought from England; the colours too were harmonious and simple, with walls either a rich sepia or washed with rose, and the great hall itself had a ceiling painted a dense, dark blue powdered with gilded stars. William noticed the pretty device for the first time as he leant back and looked up, thinking of what he must next say to his hostess. He’d have to concentrate for he was more than replete and the excellent small-beer added a pleasant, warm buzz of excitement increased by the girl sitting beside him. He’d always appreciated beauty.
He stole a glance at his hostess. Her composure told him nothing as she finished the last of the venison pastie she’d been served. William was impressed by that venison — she’d been personally sent a splendid haunch from Duke Charles’ most recent kill in his game preserves around Brugge, and Maitre Flaireau had made excellent use of every scrap of the generous gift.
Strange that a pie should represent so much. It testified to Anne’s standing with the new duke as Sir Mathew’s ward — he and Duke Charles’ father, Duke Phillip, had been friends of long standing — and, perhaps, it contained a message about her future because it was a most generous gift, a sign of great favour.
Anne must have served it to him with a purpose — perhaps she wanted him to spread the news to his colleagues that she was not without friends. And perhaps it meant that some of the rumours he’d heard about Charles and Anne really were true — he’d have to find a way to ask her tactfully. Though it was an odd thought, considering what he had to tell her shortly.
‘Father, if you’ve eaten sufficient of what this house can offer, perhaps you would bless us all before we go about our work?’
Anne had one other guest this morning, an Italian Franciscan monk. Personally, Caxton regarded all friars and monks of the mendicant orders as pests, especially if they were Franciscans. For followers of the most humble of God’s servants — as Saint Francis saw himself — they could be mighty arrogant and venal sometimes: parasites, and corrupters of women.
Therefore he’d been surprised to find this Friar Giorgio waiting for Anne on their return and even more surprised to see the honour with which this unexpected
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