C Sansom - Sovereign

‘Yes. Then she died, in the plague in London seven years ago.’

‘I am sorry,’ I said gently. ‘So many were lost then. I lost someone too.’

‘I was but twelve, with no one but my grandmother to care for me, or rather me for her as she was old and ailing.’

‘I see.’

‘I never knew who my father was. But I believe he was of good blood.’ She seemed to straighten a little with pride. ‘My mother told me he was a professional man.’

‘Did she?’

‘Yes. He might have been a senior courtier.’

Or a tailor. I felt sorry for her. Her mother had probably told her the tale to comfort her, to ease the girl’s shame at her origins.

‘I see you doubt me, sir. But I believe it. I take pride in myself, whatever cruel people may say about my birth.’

‘That is good. You should not listen to what cruel people say.’ I thought, but if it is the King?

‘My granddam told me to take advantage of the dearth of servants caused by the plague to seek the place my mother held,’ the girl went on. ‘And I did, sir. I told them in the chamberlain’s office I was a skilled seamstress, though I knew nothing of the work.’

‘It seems you have a talent for deception.’

She frowned then. ‘I worked, sir, I worked day and night to learn until I made myself a competent seamstress, learning from the other girls, who helped me for my mother’s sake. And poor folk must make shift for themselves. I had my granddam and myself to feed, and the Queen’s sewery offers good wages. And protection from the world outside,’ she added.

‘Yes. I can see that.’

‘I learned to live by my wits, sir.’

‘As Barak did.’

‘When I saw him that day in the town, something stirred in me, as it has seldom done before, and I thought – why not manufacture a meeting?’

I smiled reluctantly. ‘In truth you are clever, mistress, as well as bold.’ I looked at her directly. ‘And now you hope to hook your fish, eh?’

Her face was serious. ‘We are becoming fast friends, sir. I wanted only to ask you not to stand in our way. And please, where is the boldness in asking that?’

I studied her a long moment. ‘I think you are an unusual woman, Mistress Reedbourne,’ I said. ‘I had thought you of a frolic disposition but I see I was wrong.’

‘Jack is sorry for his words earlier,’ she said.

‘He used to be very bold. But I think part of him wants to settle down. Though part does not,’ I added.

‘I hope he would settle down,’ she said. ‘Stay working for you, give proper value to the opportunities you have given him.’

I smiled wryly. ‘So that is it, Mistress Tamasin,’ I said. ‘You have come to offer me an alliance.’

‘We have an aim in common. Jack admires you greatly, sir, he says you have known troubles and have sympathy for poor folk and the necessities of their lives.’

‘Does he truly say that?’ I asked. I was touched, as no doubt she meant me to be.

‘He does, sir. And he feels it was his fault the papers were lost. I think he is angry with himself more than anyone. Do not be too hard on him.’

I took a deep breath. ‘I will think on what you have said, mistress.’

‘That is all I ask for, sir.’

‘Well, I see you care for him. And he perhaps for you?’

‘I hope when this wretched Progress is done, Jack and I may meet again in London. But it will be as he wishes.’

I nodded. ‘Tell me, how did you get from the sewery to working for Mistress Marlin and Lady Rochford?’

‘After Jane Seymour died her household was broken up. I obtained a post with Mrs Cornwallis, the Queen’s confectioner. She trained me in the art of making comfits and sweets.’

‘You made her your friend too, eh?’

‘She is a good old body.’

‘You have a talent for making the right friends. But as you say, poor folk must shift as they can.’

‘When the King married Queen Catherine last year I was taken into her household, since she too is fond of comfits, and placed under Mistress Marlin. She has been kind to me.’

‘Mistress Marlin is a strange woman.’

‘She is good to me. The other women mock her.’

And you are naturally kind, I thought. Yes, I think you are. ‘And Lady Rochford?’ I asked. ‘What is she like?’

‘I have little to do with her. All fear her, they say she is dangerous.’

‘And is she?’

‘I think so. She likes nothing better than to dig up juicy gossip and take it where it may do most harm.’ She frowned. ‘She is not a stupid woman, I think. Yet she behaves stupidly.’

‘Dangerously.’

‘Yes. It is what she has always done. Yet she has attached herself to the Queen, they are fast friends.’

‘I saw the Queen today.’

She hesitated. ‘At Fulford?’

‘At Fulford. Jack told you what happened to me there?’

She cast her eyes down. ‘It was a cruel thing.’

‘Well, as you say, the sooner we are all out of York the better.’

She rose. ‘I should go, sir. I must see how Mistress Marlin fares.’

‘Does Barak know you are having this conversation with me?’

‘No, sir. It was my idea.’

‘Well, Tamasin, you have charmed me, as I guess you have charmed many. Would you like me to accompany you back to your lodgings?’

She smiled. ‘Thank you, sir, but no. As I said, I am used to making my own way.’

‘Goodnight, then.’

She bowed, then turned and walked confidently away, to be lost in the crowd. I watched her go. I had been wrong about her, she was a girl of mettle. Perhaps Barak had met his match.

TAMASIN’S COURAGE in approaching me with her confidences made me feel rather abashed; after all, I had been less than civil to her these last few days. I rose from the bench, for I was getting chilled, and decided to visit the camp across the road and see if I could find Barak. I went through the door in the precinct wall by St Olave’s church and crossed the lane to where guards stood at a gate in the wicker wall. I showed my papers and was allowed through. My nostrils were at once assailed by a harsh smell of woodsmoke, unwashed bodies and excrement. As I entered the field, where grass was already turning to mud under the pressure of feet and hooves, someone blew a horn nearby. Men began walking to the nearest cooking-fire, carrying wooden bowls and mugs. It was late for dinner, they would be hungry.

I stood and watched as a large group gathered round the fire, a huge blaze of wood set in a rectangular pit under a huge spit, six feet high and a dozen long, an enormous metal construction on which a whole ox turned. Scullions ran up with more wood while others turned the immense handles under the supervision of a sweating cook. The spit was an amazingly complex piece of equipment. Underneath chickens turned on smaller irons, and gallapins darted in and out, pulling out the cooked birds and slicing them deftly on big platters, fat dripping on them from the ox. Wearing leather aprons and neckerchiefs over their faces against the spitting fat, the little kitchen boys moved with extraordinary speed and skill to fill the plates held out by the hungry men. There was joking and catcalling but the men were well behaved; all looked tired for they would have started travelling at dawn, waited during the spectacle at Fulford and then come on here to set up the camp.

Watching the little scullions darting among the flames and hot fat, I reflected that Craike was incorrect. The organization of the Progress was an extraordinary thing, but to sneer at the workmen was wrong; without the discipline and skill of these men, the drivers and cooks and carriers, nothing would have been accomplished at all.

I heard a cough, and turned to find Barak at my elbow. ‘Oh, you’re here,’ I said roughly. ‘Quite something, isn’t it?’ We were silent a moment, watching as the men crouched on their haunches by the fire, eating hungrily.