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Authors: Susanna Gregory
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around.’
‘Then I shall find you some,’ said Edith, sensing a challenge. ‘Leave it to me.’
‘No, thank you,’ said Bartholomew in alarm, knowing from past experience that the ladies Edith was likely to consider would
be wholly unacceptable. It was not that he was fussy – he was an easygoing man who invariably found something to enjoy in
most people’s company – but he did not want to spend his evenings in stilted conversation with someone who had nothing to
discuss but the price of fish or the state of her wardrobe.
‘I can think of several,’ said Edith, ignoring his objection.
‘Please do not try to pair me off with the first availablefemale you encounter,’ he pleaded. ‘Michaelhouse may have its disadvantages, but I am happy there. I do not want to be trapped
in a loveless marriage.’
Edith pursed her lips. ‘You should put more trust in me, Matt. I know what I am doing.’
He regarded her uncertainly, not at all sure that she did.
While Bartholomew tried to distract her with some coloured ribbons being sold by a chapman, Edith began a sweeping search
of the Market Square to see whether she could locate a suitable partner there and then. He saw her eyes linger briefly on
the substantial figure of Adela Tangmer, the daughter of an immensely wealthy vintner, and felt his spirits flag. Adela’s
consuming passion was horses, and Bartholomew, who knew little more about them other than that they had four legs and a tail,
suspected he would be a bitter disappointment to her. Even discussing the price of fish held more appeal to him than endless
monologues about fetlocks and foaling and the merits of deep chests.
But, with relief, he recalled that Edith did not like Adela Tangmer, and even the prospect of seeing her brother happily married
would not induce her to recommend Adela to him. Edith considered Adela overbearing, and disliked her mannish ways. However,
Adela had a half-sister who was very different, and Edith had extolled the virtues of Joan Tangmer on a number of occasions.
He was relieved when Edith’s gaze moved on. To his horror, though, he saw her look rather keenly at the willowy form of old
Mistress Mortimer, the long since widowed mother of the town’s spice merchant, who was easily old enough to be Bartholomew’s
grandmother. He saw Edith give an almost imperceptible shake of her head, although he could tell that Mistress Mortimer had
by nomeans been permanently discounted as a prospective sister-in-law. Edith then began to assess the three young step-daughters
of Mayor Horwoode, the oldest of whom was barely past puberty.
‘No,’ said Bartholomew firmly, as Edith opened her mouth to speak.
‘Hello, Matthew,’ came a loud, braying voice behind them that made them both start. It was Adela Tangmer. ‘And Edith, too.
What brings you from the country to the town? Rat poison?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ asked Edith suspiciously. She was not the only one to be nonplussed: Bartholomew also had no idea what
Adela was talking about.
‘Rat poison,’ repeated Adela. She put her hands on her hips and regarded Edith and Bartholomew askance. ‘Do not tell me that
you did not know the Franciscan friars always sell their famous rat poison on the last Thursday of the month? I thought the
sale of one of the most vital commodities known to man was an event of national significance!’
‘I do not think about rats very often,’ replied Edith archly. ‘But my husband usually lays in a store of the Franciscans’
poison, and I leave such matters to him.’
‘I would never trust a man with something so important,’ declared Adela. ‘If I left the purchase of rat poison to my father,
we would be overrun and eaten alive in a week! And, of course, I have the nags to think of – they do not appreciate rats in
their hay at all.’ She gave them a grin full of big yellow incisors.
‘What a handsome dress,’ said Edith, looking down at the
‘Then I shall find you some,’ said Edith, sensing a challenge. ‘Leave it to me.’
‘No, thank you,’ said Bartholomew in alarm, knowing from past experience that the ladies Edith was likely to consider would
be wholly unacceptable. It was not that he was fussy – he was an easygoing man who invariably found something to enjoy in
most people’s company – but he did not want to spend his evenings in stilted conversation with someone who had nothing to
discuss but the price of fish or the state of her wardrobe.
‘I can think of several,’ said Edith, ignoring his objection.
‘Please do not try to pair me off with the first availablefemale you encounter,’ he pleaded. ‘Michaelhouse may have its disadvantages, but I am happy there. I do not want to be trapped
in a loveless marriage.’
Edith pursed her lips. ‘You should put more trust in me, Matt. I know what I am doing.’
He regarded her uncertainly, not at all sure that she did.
While Bartholomew tried to distract her with some coloured ribbons being sold by a chapman, Edith began a sweeping search
of the Market Square to see whether she could locate a suitable partner there and then. He saw her eyes linger briefly on
the substantial figure of Adela Tangmer, the daughter of an immensely wealthy vintner, and felt his spirits flag. Adela’s
consuming passion was horses, and Bartholomew, who knew little more about them other than that they had four legs and a tail,
suspected he would be a bitter disappointment to her. Even discussing the price of fish held more appeal to him than endless
monologues about fetlocks and foaling and the merits of deep chests.
But, with relief, he recalled that Edith did not like Adela Tangmer, and even the prospect of seeing her brother happily married
would not induce her to recommend Adela to him. Edith considered Adela overbearing, and disliked her mannish ways. However,
Adela had a half-sister who was very different, and Edith had extolled the virtues of Joan Tangmer on a number of occasions.
He was relieved when Edith’s gaze moved on. To his horror, though, he saw her look rather keenly at the willowy form of old
Mistress Mortimer, the long since widowed mother of the town’s spice merchant, who was easily old enough to be Bartholomew’s
grandmother. He saw Edith give an almost imperceptible shake of her head, although he could tell that Mistress Mortimer had
by nomeans been permanently discounted as a prospective sister-in-law. Edith then began to assess the three young step-daughters
of Mayor Horwoode, the oldest of whom was barely past puberty.
‘No,’ said Bartholomew firmly, as Edith opened her mouth to speak.
‘Hello, Matthew,’ came a loud, braying voice behind them that made them both start. It was Adela Tangmer. ‘And Edith, too.
What brings you from the country to the town? Rat poison?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ asked Edith suspiciously. She was not the only one to be nonplussed: Bartholomew also had no idea what
Adela was talking about.
‘Rat poison,’ repeated Adela. She put her hands on her hips and regarded Edith and Bartholomew askance. ‘Do not tell me that
you did not know the Franciscan friars always sell their famous rat poison on the last Thursday of the month? I thought the
sale of one of the most vital commodities known to man was an event of national significance!’
‘I do not think about rats very often,’ replied Edith archly. ‘But my husband usually lays in a store of the Franciscans’
poison, and I leave such matters to him.’
‘I would never trust a man with something so important,’ declared Adela. ‘If I left the purchase of rat poison to my father,
we would be overrun and eaten alive in a week! And, of course, I have the nags to think of – they do not appreciate rats in
their hay at all.’ She gave them a grin full of big yellow incisors.
‘What a handsome dress,’ said Edith, looking down at the
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