Mel Starr - A Corpse at St Andrew's Chapel

I berated myself as I rode that day that I had not found excuse to visit the stationer and his daughter sooner. Oxford was full to bursting with burghers’ sons and bachelor lawyers. They would be drawn to Kate like the swineherd’s hogs to acorns. A poor metaphor. Well, reader, you will grasp my meaning.

Bruce clattered across the Oxpens Road Bridge and the bustle and smells of Oxford returned to me. How is it that when I return to the town after some time away I am always pleased to do so? But after a few days, when I take leave and return to Bampton, I am likewise pleased to leave the clamor and odors behind.

I left Bruce at the Stag and Hounds and set off toward Holywell Street and Caxton’s shop. Each step brought me closer to Kate, and also more apprehension of what I might find there. I reproved my lack of romantic effort and considered days in the summer now past when I might have found excuse to visit Oxford. I have often prayed that God would exert Himself and provide for me a good wife. Perhaps He had done so and left the conclusion of the task to me. As I strode down the curve of Holywell Street and the stationer’s shop came into view I resolved to end my laxity — was I not too late.

The stationer looked up from his desk as I entered. I greeted him and asked of his injured back while casting about through the corners of my eyes for Kate. She was not present, and my heart sank.

Caxton was no fool. He saw that, while my greeting was for him, my interest lay elsewhere.

“Kate,” he shouted through the door to the workroom. “Master Hugh has come.”

I was much relieved. I heard the rustle of a long cotehardie from through the open door and a heartbeat later Kate appeared. She gave the appearance of having hurried from her task to the door, but once there remembered decorum and walked toward me with dignified mien. Actually, a heartbeat was quite a long time, for mine skipped several beats when she appeared. Neither of us spoke for a moment.

“Master Hugh,” she exclaimed. “I thought you had forgot us.”

“Ah, Miss Caxton, I have an excellent memory…and even had I not, it is unlikely I could forget you.”

The girl blushed.

I saw from the corner of my eye Robert Caxton return to his desk and busy himself there. As Kate drew near she came between her father and me. I looked past her and was relieved to see a smile at the corner of his lips, rather than a scowl across his brow.

We made small talk for some time before I announced that I had come for parchment and a pot of ink.

“Do you return to Bampton this day?” Caxton asked.

“No. ’Tis too far to journey here and back in one day. Especially on a horse so old as mine. And I promised when last in Oxford to call on Master Wyclif and tell him of the resolution of events in Bampton.”

“Then if you can return tomorrow I will have a fresh pot of ink prepared for you.”

I promised to do so, and an awkward silence followed. Kate finally spoke.

“I must return to my work,” she smiled. “But the task will be done tomorrow when you call.”

She left the room and her father and I were left staring at each other. A moment of boldness came over me. Kate could do that to a man. “Sir, I would like to pay court to your daughter…if you approve.”

“I do,” he replied softly. “And so, I think, does Kate.”

I bid the stationer good day, promised to return next day for parchment and ink, and set off for Canterbury Hall with light feet and lighter heart.

The porter remembered me and readily granted me the freedom of the college. Autumn days grew short. ’Twas dark enough that I could see a cresset glow from Wyclif’s window as I approached his chamber. I rapped upon his door and, as before, heard a bench grate upon the flags. I expected to see a book open upon his desk, the flame lighting his study. But not so. Master John opened the door, saw ’twas me, turned to his barren table and spoke.

“Master Hugh…you are well met. I was about to send for you. They’ve stolen my books.”