Read Online A Play of Isaac by Margaret Frazer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Margaret Frazer
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think we should leave our things simply to strangers’ good will.”
Ellis frowned at that, but Rose said, “You’re probably right. Well thought of, Joliffe.”
Basset would have thought of it if he had not been so irked this morning, Joliffe thought as he watched Rose and Ellis out the door. He waited until sure they were well gone, then leaped for the script box.
With reading, his lines began to crawl back out of whatever hole in his memory they had sunk into; he was feeling at least a little less a fool by the time Rose and Ellis returned. By then he was also more than ready to go to his own breakfast but asked as he pointedly held the script out to Ellis, “Where’s Basset?”
Taking the script ungraciously but willingly, Ellis said, “Gone to speak to Mistress Penteney. He asked the chamberlain or someone if he could see Master Penteney. The fellow said we’re a household matter now and it was Mistress Penteney who’d deal with him.
“Where’s Piers?”
“Lewis claimed him as soon as he’d done eating,” Rose said. “That man Matthew has them.”
“Good luck to him,” Joliffe said from the heart.
He made it to the hall in time to help himself to the last of breakfast, spreading a fist-thick slab of new-baked bread with soft butter, layering a few cold slices of beef onto it, and catching up a wooden cup of ale just ahead of the servants clearing the benchless single table set up in the middle of the hall. Breakfast in even the largest households was usually a simple matter, with bread and ale and yesterday’s left food set out for folk to help themselves without sitting down, the quicker to get them onward with the day. Accordingly, there were no servants lingering for him to draw into talk, and a long look around while he ate told him that wherever Basset was, he was not here, nor Piers either.
But Kathryn Penteney still was, standing not far away, near the doorway to the screens passage, in earnest talk to a man Joliffe guessed might be the household’s chamberlain: he plainly belonged to the household but his tunic was of better cut and cloth than a mere servant’s and his manner toward her was both respectful and assured, suiting someone who both served here and had authority. Joliffe was too far away to hear what was being said between them, but he took his time over eating his bread and meat, watching them.
Well, watching the girl more than the man he admitted, and liking what he saw. She would probably someday fill out with womanhood to her mother’s fullness of figure, but presently she was merely slender in her girlhood, with her fair hair in a long plait down her back, her hands moving quickly while she talked, her laughter brief and bright at something the man said.
He did not know Basset was behind him until Basset slapped him between the shoulder blades deliberately hard enough to stagger him a step and said, all his ill-humour seemingly gone, “Come on then, boy. Finish up. We’ve a new player to set to work.”
Joliffe gulped the last swallow of his ale, set the cup down, shoved the last bite of the bread and beef into his mouth, and followed Basset from the hall, pausing only at the basin and towel set by the door to wash his hands and wipe them clean, giving a last, quick look backward at the girl, still in talk with the man. She was no harder to look at close up than farther off, though maybe younger than he had guessed, but that was all he had time to note before Basset caught him by an arm around the shoulders and moved him out of the hall, saying as they went, “I don’t want to think what kick in the shins the goddess Fortuna will give us next time she turns around, but for the present I have to tell you we’ve landed hip-deep in a pot of cream.”
“Your talk with Mistress Penteney went well, I take it?”
“Well and better than well. No trouble over anything. She saw no reason Lewis couldn’t be in a play, simply that we weren’t to tire him. Seems he’s
Ellis frowned at that, but Rose said, “You’re probably right. Well thought of, Joliffe.”
Basset would have thought of it if he had not been so irked this morning, Joliffe thought as he watched Rose and Ellis out the door. He waited until sure they were well gone, then leaped for the script box.
With reading, his lines began to crawl back out of whatever hole in his memory they had sunk into; he was feeling at least a little less a fool by the time Rose and Ellis returned. By then he was also more than ready to go to his own breakfast but asked as he pointedly held the script out to Ellis, “Where’s Basset?”
Taking the script ungraciously but willingly, Ellis said, “Gone to speak to Mistress Penteney. He asked the chamberlain or someone if he could see Master Penteney. The fellow said we’re a household matter now and it was Mistress Penteney who’d deal with him.
“Where’s Piers?”
“Lewis claimed him as soon as he’d done eating,” Rose said. “That man Matthew has them.”
“Good luck to him,” Joliffe said from the heart.
He made it to the hall in time to help himself to the last of breakfast, spreading a fist-thick slab of new-baked bread with soft butter, layering a few cold slices of beef onto it, and catching up a wooden cup of ale just ahead of the servants clearing the benchless single table set up in the middle of the hall. Breakfast in even the largest households was usually a simple matter, with bread and ale and yesterday’s left food set out for folk to help themselves without sitting down, the quicker to get them onward with the day. Accordingly, there were no servants lingering for him to draw into talk, and a long look around while he ate told him that wherever Basset was, he was not here, nor Piers either.
But Kathryn Penteney still was, standing not far away, near the doorway to the screens passage, in earnest talk to a man Joliffe guessed might be the household’s chamberlain: he plainly belonged to the household but his tunic was of better cut and cloth than a mere servant’s and his manner toward her was both respectful and assured, suiting someone who both served here and had authority. Joliffe was too far away to hear what was being said between them, but he took his time over eating his bread and meat, watching them.
Well, watching the girl more than the man he admitted, and liking what he saw. She would probably someday fill out with womanhood to her mother’s fullness of figure, but presently she was merely slender in her girlhood, with her fair hair in a long plait down her back, her hands moving quickly while she talked, her laughter brief and bright at something the man said.
He did not know Basset was behind him until Basset slapped him between the shoulder blades deliberately hard enough to stagger him a step and said, all his ill-humour seemingly gone, “Come on then, boy. Finish up. We’ve a new player to set to work.”
Joliffe gulped the last swallow of his ale, set the cup down, shoved the last bite of the bread and beef into his mouth, and followed Basset from the hall, pausing only at the basin and towel set by the door to wash his hands and wipe them clean, giving a last, quick look backward at the girl, still in talk with the man. She was no harder to look at close up than farther off, though maybe younger than he had guessed, but that was all he had time to note before Basset caught him by an arm around the shoulders and moved him out of the hall, saying as they went, “I don’t want to think what kick in the shins the goddess Fortuna will give us next time she turns around, but for the present I have to tell you we’ve landed hip-deep in a pot of cream.”
“Your talk with Mistress Penteney went well, I take it?”
“Well and better than well. No trouble over anything. She saw no reason Lewis couldn’t be in a play, simply that we weren’t to tire him. Seems he’s
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