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Authors: Posie Graeme-evans
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what you have. What you are.’ He was being very frank, though he kept his eyes firmly fixed on her face. ‘I am convinced that being a merchant would be most unnatural for you, that it would worry you greatly. As I said, allow a good man to take care of you and you can relax into your natural sphere of family and care of a fine house. You will be happier for it, I promise you. A good marriage is ...’
‘Yes, a good marriage, Master Caxton — and a good wife — is above the price of rubies. I know the text. It’s just that I would prefer to trade in gems, rather than become one.’
He shook his head, trying to reach her, trying to make her listen. ‘Please think on what I have said, Lady Anne. I believe, we believe, that you cannot go on living alone, or aspiring to trade. This city is plainly too dangerous for you now. Allow me to help you choose your destiny rather than have it forced upon you. There are good men within the English community here, men who are my friends and would like to be yours.’
Anne said nothing for a moment then sighed. What William Caxton said was the plain unvarnished truth in some respects; she did not want to live surrounded by drawn steel, and a young unmarried woman was not just a scandal, she
was
a prize, he was correct. She would speak of it to Mathew Cuttifer — he would give her sound advice because he always did. But for now, there was so much to think of! And dream about.
‘Thank you, sir, you are very good to me. And I thank you for your care of my person. I shall think on what you have said, and take advice.’
To his surprise, Caxton felt himself being walked to the door of her room without being aware she had taken him by the arm.
And as the door of that substantial house closed him outside in the white, still world, he shook his head.
Round one had ended, he rather thought. When would round two begin?
Chapter Seven
E verything had changed, everything! This was the hinge point in her life and Anne recognised it. She measured the moment as if it were a solid thing — the moment when her life tipped from precarious stability into potential chaos, and she found herself detached, unmoved by the danger. The risk felt right, felt destined in some odd way.
The feeling of unruffled clarity remained with her as she hurried through the double cellar which, underground, joined Sir Mathew’s house to the warehouse next door — a clever security device, since his trading-house had no other entrance — up to the counting floor under the eaves of the warehouse. She ran up the last few stair treads, arriving slightly breathless, and found Maxim, the steward, on the counting floor with Henry Fowler and John Aigret, the two young Englishmen who were Sir Mathew’s apprentices in Brugge. All three were poring over ledgers with Hans Boter, the chief clerk, a canny Lowlander whom Sir Mathew had enticed to work for him some years before.
‘Maxim, I must speak to Meinheer Boter for a moment, but can you come to the work room soon and ask Deborah to join us, please? There is something important I must say to you both.’
The warehouse was no less well built than the gabled house next door because Mathew, careful to look to the welfare of his most valued servants, had made sure that the counting floor was warm, light and dry even in freezing weather. People worked better if they had warm hands.
It was a matter of security too. Happy staff were slightly less likely to cheat him out of the trading capital kept in small iron-bound coffers in a locked, windowless inner room.
Maxim was startled and intrigued by Anne’s passionate energy, but the pleading look in her eye convinced him.
‘Very well, mistress. I shall join you a little later. Come, lads.’
Anne could barely contain herself until the steward and the two apprentices left the counting floor, though she was careful to drop the wooden door-bolt into its keeper as the door closed behind them — to the chief clerk’s
‘Yes, a good marriage, Master Caxton — and a good wife — is above the price of rubies. I know the text. It’s just that I would prefer to trade in gems, rather than become one.’
He shook his head, trying to reach her, trying to make her listen. ‘Please think on what I have said, Lady Anne. I believe, we believe, that you cannot go on living alone, or aspiring to trade. This city is plainly too dangerous for you now. Allow me to help you choose your destiny rather than have it forced upon you. There are good men within the English community here, men who are my friends and would like to be yours.’
Anne said nothing for a moment then sighed. What William Caxton said was the plain unvarnished truth in some respects; she did not want to live surrounded by drawn steel, and a young unmarried woman was not just a scandal, she
was
a prize, he was correct. She would speak of it to Mathew Cuttifer — he would give her sound advice because he always did. But for now, there was so much to think of! And dream about.
‘Thank you, sir, you are very good to me. And I thank you for your care of my person. I shall think on what you have said, and take advice.’
To his surprise, Caxton felt himself being walked to the door of her room without being aware she had taken him by the arm.
And as the door of that substantial house closed him outside in the white, still world, he shook his head.
Round one had ended, he rather thought. When would round two begin?
Chapter Seven
E verything had changed, everything! This was the hinge point in her life and Anne recognised it. She measured the moment as if it were a solid thing — the moment when her life tipped from precarious stability into potential chaos, and she found herself detached, unmoved by the danger. The risk felt right, felt destined in some odd way.
The feeling of unruffled clarity remained with her as she hurried through the double cellar which, underground, joined Sir Mathew’s house to the warehouse next door — a clever security device, since his trading-house had no other entrance — up to the counting floor under the eaves of the warehouse. She ran up the last few stair treads, arriving slightly breathless, and found Maxim, the steward, on the counting floor with Henry Fowler and John Aigret, the two young Englishmen who were Sir Mathew’s apprentices in Brugge. All three were poring over ledgers with Hans Boter, the chief clerk, a canny Lowlander whom Sir Mathew had enticed to work for him some years before.
‘Maxim, I must speak to Meinheer Boter for a moment, but can you come to the work room soon and ask Deborah to join us, please? There is something important I must say to you both.’
The warehouse was no less well built than the gabled house next door because Mathew, careful to look to the welfare of his most valued servants, had made sure that the counting floor was warm, light and dry even in freezing weather. People worked better if they had warm hands.
It was a matter of security too. Happy staff were slightly less likely to cheat him out of the trading capital kept in small iron-bound coffers in a locked, windowless inner room.
Maxim was startled and intrigued by Anne’s passionate energy, but the pleading look in her eye convinced him.
‘Very well, mistress. I shall join you a little later. Come, lads.’
Anne could barely contain herself until the steward and the two apprentices left the counting floor, though she was careful to drop the wooden door-bolt into its keeper as the door closed behind them — to the chief clerk’s
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