Silken Threads (32 page)

She knows,
Joanna thought.
She
knows he asked me to marry him.
How would Joanna feel in such a
situation? How would she act?

Margaret caught Joanna’s eye and
smiled
—
just a small smile, and perhaps a bit strained, but
Joanna had to admire her for it. She was going to get through this
with her head held high; she would survive this, with grace.
Some people have the gift of persevering in the face of
adversity.

Could Joanna display such strength of
character if the situation were reversed
—
if the man she
loved were preparing to wed another woman? She immediately pictured
Graeham Fox kneeling at the altar next to some faceless woman, and
felt a sickening ache in her belly
—
in her very soul.

And she wasn’t even in love with Graeham
Fox, merely...infatuated with him. Fascinated by him. Obsessed with
him.

But not in love.

* * *

“Papa, look! Look!” cried little Catherine,
pointing to an acrobat executing feats of contortion on a long pole
held aloft by two colleagues, all of them in parti-colored tunics
and fanciful hats. A crowd had formed around the troupe, performing
in front of the tanners’ market hall on the corner of Newgate and
St. Lawrence. The child hopped and bobbed excitedly as she angled
for a better view.

“Here you go.” Robert lifted his daughter
onto his shoulders, holding on to her stockinged legs. “Is that
better?”

“Aye!” She clapped her hands, screeching
with delight. “Beatrix, look!”

But Catherine’s little sister was taking her
midafternoon nap on Margaret’s shoulder, arms and legs hanging
limply, little pink mouth half open, oblivious to the chaos
surrounding her. Newgate Street had been a riot of noise and
roiling crowds since before nones; judging from past midsummer
celebrations, the merrymaking would continue through the night,
curfew being lifted for the Feast of St. John the Baptist.

Every house and shop in West Cheap and Corn
Hill
—
in fact, most of the dwellings in
London
—
were bedecked with garlands of St. John’s wort,
white lilies, green birch and fennel. Lanterns dangled among the
boughs and branches, to be lit at sundown, along with the bonfires
being built at regular intervals along the city’s major
thoroughfares.

The daylight hours were a time of feasting,
the more affluent citizens having set out tables laden with
sweetmeats, pasties and ale, free for the taking. Tonight would
come the much-anticipated Midsummer Watch, an annual parade by
London’s most prominent citizens.

Joanna, standing with Hugh at the edge of
the acrobats’ audience, shaded her eyes and peered farther down the
street to see what entertainments awaited them. On a platform
erected at the corner of Ironmonger Lane, two dancing girls in
filmy silks leapt and spun. Farther down, in front of tiny St.
Mary’s Church, was a fellow coaxing tricks from a trained bear.

Joanna’s gaze was drawn to a momentary flash
of red in the crowd surrounding the bear and his master. She
instantly thought of Alice and her tattered red cap. Five days had
passed since the morning the child had disappeared, and there’d
been no sign of her since. Neither the ward patrol nor Holy
Trinity’s Augustinian brothers had reported seeing her. It was as
if she’d simply vanished. Joanna suspected the child wouldn’t be
found unless she wanted to be found, and she prayed nightly for her
safety. Graeham was still morose about it; he blamed himself for
driving her away.

Joanna kept her gaze trained on the audience
around the bear, many of whom were children, but the bit of red
she’d seen before did not reappear.

“What are you looking at?” her brother asked
her.

Joanna shook her head somberly.
“Nothing.”

Later, while they were watching a trickster
perform sleights of hand, she saw it again, a flicker of red at
just the right height to be a child’s cap, about twenty yards down
the crowded street. It appeared and disappeared in the blink of an
eye. She stilled, her gaze riveted to the spot where she’d seen
it.

Hugh smiled indulgently. “Nothing
again?”

Robert, guiding Catherine by the hand, came
up behind her. “My lady? Is anything amiss?”

She shook her head, still staring. Presently
it appeared again, a spot of red in the throng. It
was
a
cap, she saw
—
a child’s cap. A moment later its owner
turned toward her, just briefly, but long enough for her to see his
face.

Her
face. “Alice,” she whispered, her
heart skittering.

Hugh and Robert exchanged a look.

“It’s Alice, Hugh
—
the little girl I
told you about, the one who ran off last week.”

“Where?” Hugh squinted down the street.

“There
—
see? The red cap.” Joanna
lifted her skirts and threaded her way swiftly through the crowd as
the red cap winked in and out of sight. Should she call out to her
or sneak up on her? She seemed to be moving away quickly. “Oh, God,
I don’t see her anymore,” Joanna said despairingly.

“I’ll get her.” Hugh sprinted off,
disappearing among the swarming celebrants.

“Who is she?” Robert asked.

Joanna told Robert and his cousin what she
knew about Alice.

“A little girl sleeping on the streets.”
Margaret, still holding the slumbering Beatrix, curled an arm
protectively around Catherine. “How awful.”

Hugh reappeared, holding Alice tucked
beneath an arm like a kicking, thrashing little demon. “Put me
down, you...you...damned
mongrel
!”

“If you want to call people bad names,” Hugh
said mildly, “I’ll teach you some better ones than that.”

“Please don’t,” Joanna said.

The child ceased her struggles and looked
up, wide-eyed. She was as filthy as ever; her cap was askew, one
long braid trailing out of it. “Mistress Joanna.”

“Hello, Alice. I was worried I’d never see
you again.”

Alice squirmed against Hugh’s grip. “Would
you tell this...
bastard
to put me down?”

“Bastard,” Hugh mused. “That’s an
improvement over mongrel, but I’m sure you can do better.”

“This
gentleman,
” Joanna said, “is my
brother, Hugh of Wexford. You may call him Sir Hugh. And this is
Lady Margaret and Lord Robert. And I have no intention of asking my
brother to put you down until you give me your word you won’t run
away.”

“I give you my word,” Alice said
quickly.

“Swear on this,” Hugh said, taking one of
Alice’s grubby hands and wrapping it around the crystal knob on the
hilt of his sword. “There’s a bit of hay from the manger of
Bethlehem in this crystal.”

Alice gaped at it.

“An oath taken on this relic is binding
before God,” Hugh intoned, his manner so absurdly grave that it was
all Joanna could do to keep from laughing out loud. “If you break
such a holy vow, the Lord will find a way to punish you. Now, do
you swear before Almighty God and all the saints that you’ll stay
put after I release you?”

“What’ll you do to me if I don’t?”

“Find some rope and tie you up, I
suppose.”

Alice sighed heavily. “I swear it.”

Hugh set her down and dusted her off. She
jerked away from his touch and stuffed the braid back under the
cap, her exaggerated scowl vanishing when she caught sight of
Beatrix, blinking in wakefulness on Margaret’s shoulder. “A
baby.”

Margaret smiled. “Do you like babies?”

Alice nodded, transfixed by Beatrix.

“She’s my sister,” Catherine proudly
announced.

Alice smiled at the younger girl. “She’s
very pretty. So are you. How old are you?”

Catherine held up five fingers. “How old are
you?”

“Ten. What’s your name?”

“Catherine. What’s yours?”

“Alice.”

Catherine frowned in evident puzzlement.
“You don’t look like a girl.”

Alice hesitated, then pulled off her cap and
stuffed it under her belt; her untidy braids sprang free.

Catherine giggled in delight. “Why do you
dress like a boy?”

Alice frowned, obviously at a loss as to how
to explain it to such a young child.

“I’ll bet I know.” Robert squatted down next
to his daugh¬ter. “Do you remember how your sister Gillian used to
wear braies and shirts when she went for long rides?”

Catherine nodded. “Mummy used to scold her
for it, but you didn’t.”

“Yes, well, Mummy and I didn’t always agree
about Gillian, but we both loved her very much. Gillian felt braies
were more practical than skirts when it came to riding.” Casting a
meaningful glance toward Alice, he said, “Perhaps that’s why Alice
wears braies
—
because they’re practical.”

Taking the cue, Alice said, “Aye, that’s
just it. They’re practical.”

“Can I wear braies, Papa?” Catherine
implored. “Please.”

Margaret arched an eloquent brow and looked
at her cousin as if to say,
See what you started?

“Perhaps someday,” Robert hedged as he rose
to his feet. “When you go for long rides.”

“Do you ride much?” Catherine asked
Alice.

Alice shook her head. “I used to ride our
mule sometimes, when I lived in Laystoke. I had a sister your age,
and she rode behind me.”

Catherine pouted. “Papa says I’m too young
to ride.”

“I just don’t want any accidents,” Robert
said. “I wouldn’t want you...getting hurt.” From his grim
expression, Joanna knew he was thinking of the wife and daughter he
had lost.

“What if Alice rides with me?” Catherine
asked.

Robert and Margaret exchanged a pensive
look.

“I don’t live near you,” Alice told the
little girl.

“Where do you live?” Catherine asked
Alice.

Hesitantly Alice said, “Here in London.”

“Whereabouts in London?”

Alice chewed on her lower lip.

Joanna was wondering how to redirect
Catherine’s interroga¬tion when Robert asked, “Who wants some sweet
wafers?”

“Me!” Catherine shrieked happily, clapping
her hands.

Beatrix slapped her pudgy hands together and
squealed in jubilant imitation of her sister.

Alice brightened and started to say
something, but swiftly collected herself, as if she weren’t sure
the invitation had been meant to include her.

“Alice,” Robert said, touching her shoulder,
“why don’t you take Catherine over to where they’re handing out the
wafers
—
” he pointed to a table across the street
“
—
and get three of them, one for each of you?”

“Aye, milord!”

As the two girls set off hand-in-hand across
the street, Margaret turned to her cousin. “She even looks a bit
like Gillian, doesn’t she, Robert?”

Robert nodded slowly as he gazed at the
grimy little girl in boy’s clothing. “A bit.”

* * *

“May I speak to you alone, my lady?” Robert
asked quietly.

This was the moment Joanna had been waiting
for uneasily all day. Now, as the setting sun stained the sky
orange and the lanterns along Aldgate Street flickered to life one
by one, he had evidently decided it was time for her answer.

“Yes, my lord. Of course.”

Hugh and Margaret, standing with the three
children in the crowd surrounding a raging bonfire, glanced toward
them as Robert led her around the corner of St. Mary Street. Hugh
caught her eye and winked, apparently gratified that his scheme to
betroth her to Robert was bearing fruit. Margaret looked away, her
face horribly void of expression.

St. Mary Street was lined with houses that
leaned so far out over the rutted dirt lane that it seemed as if
they were holding each other up on either side. It was dark here,
and much quieter than Aldgate Street. Two little boys sped past
them on their way to the festivities; otherwise it was
deserted.

They walked slowly, and in silence, until
Robert touched her arm and they turned to face each other. He took
a breath. “Have you thought about...what I asked, my lady?”

She nodded and looked down, her arms wrapped
around her middle. “I’m deeply honored that you want me to be your
wife, Lord Robert. I like you very much, and your children are
delightful. But I can’t marry you.”

After a long, hushed moment, he said softly,
“May I ask why?”

Graeham Fox’s image materialized in her
mind’s eye...
Are you happy?
But this wasn’t about Graeham.
She wouldn’t let it be. Mostly it was about Margaret.

Joanna looked up and met Robert’s gaze.
“Your cousin.”

Robert briefly closed his eyes.
“Margaret...I told you, she’ll be leaving Ramswick after I
get
—
”

“I know.” Joanna rested a hand on his arm.
“She’ll be taking holy vows. But you still won’t stop loving
her.”

He just stared at her. “I...” He shook his
head. “Nay, you don’t understand. It can’t be that way between
Margaret and me. She’s my cousin.”

“Your third cousin. And I know you wanted to
marry her once.”

“The Roman curia refused to sanction
it.”

“You should have married her anyway. You
still should.”

He shook his head, his expression
conflicted. “My parents, ‘twould kill them.”

She allowed herself a wry smile. “I somehow
doubt that.”

“No, you don’t know them, my lady. They’re
terribly devout. They’ve been talking about taking vows, both of
them. If I were to disregard the Church’s authority in this matter,
it might literally kill them.”

“I thought it might kill my father when I
married Prewitt Chapman. It made him
angry
—
furious
—
but he’s still alive.”

“And still not speaking to you.” Robert
looked abashed. “Forgive me, my lady. ‘Tis none of my affair.”

Joanna took both of Robert’s hands in hers.
“Just because my father repudiated me doesn’t mean your parents
will do the same. William of Wexford has yellow bile flowing
through his very veins. He lives for spite. From what I know of
your parents, they seem like good people. They
will
forgive
you.”