The Unconventional Maiden (9 page)

‘Why don’t you have another rest?’ Jane scooped up the wet clothes that her mistress had discarded. ‘I’ll deal with these and, if you fall asleep, I’ll wake you in time for supper.’

‘I will rest, but I have no intention of sleeping,’ said Beth. ‘I will read the Book of Hours that was my mother’s and try to meditate. How I wish she was still alive,’ she said sadly.

‘You do that, Mistress Beth,’ said Jane, bustling from the bedchamber.

Beth settled on the bed and opened the Book of Hours, but she had read only two of the meditations when she felt her eyelids drooping. She had no wish to doze off if it meant she would lie awake at night, worrying, so she rose and went over to the table again.

She picked up the sheet of paper on which she had
written her list, thinking to put it away. It was then she remembered Gawain’s enquiry concerning places of concealment. Her eyes searched the room and she thought of the obvious ones, such as the bottom of a chest beneath clothes or bed linen, or under the mattress. Less obvious would be to prise up a floorboard and hide the papers in a box in the space beneath. One did not want a mouse to get at it or insects and a box would also be necessary if one took a brick or a stone from the wall over by the fireplace. If the lintel was wide enough above the door, it could be concealed there, too, although one would need to be tall or have a stool to stand on to reach that position. Then one could also sew it into a garment or the hem of a curtain or a hanging. She could not believe he planned on searching her bedchamber, so whose was it and what was he searching for? she wondered.

She glanced down at her list of desirable masculine attributes and thought how she would enjoy watching Gawain’s face when he read it. She wondered where he was now and what he was doing.

Gawain rubbed his hair dry as he stood in the middle of Mary’s bedchamber that was adjacent to his own, wondering if he was crazed to even consider that she might have kept a journal. He could not imagine her showing the same enthusiasm as Beth Llewellyn for the written word, yet Mary had plenty to say in the missive she had sent him and he thought of Lydia and Tabitha. One dark like himself and the other fair like Mary. He did not want to believe another man had
fathered Tabitha. He had to get them back! Perhaps Mary might not have kept a journal, but she and this other so-called husband of hers could have written to each other. What would she have done with any billets-doux she might have received from him? Destroyed them or hidden them away so she could take them out and re-read them when the mood took her? Who would have delivered such messages without rousing suspicion? Money would have to be paid over to a messenger. Of course, if she had kept them, they could still be here if she had left in a hurry, fearing he might return from court before she could escape.

He tossed the drying cloth on a chair and went over to the bed and slid his hands beneath the mattress. No doubt this would be one of the places that Beth Llewellyn might suggest he search. He frowned, remembering the feel of her in his arms. Damn! He had to get the chit out of his head and keep his mind on what he was doing. He tried the other side, but without any luck. He looked in the chest at the foot of the bed, but again without any success. It occurred to him that even if he found any missives from Mary’s lover, they might be of no help to him in finding her and the girls, as it was unlikely he would write down his address when Mary already knew where to find him. Deciding he was wasting his time searching any further, he returned to his bedchamber. He knew that he could not let matters remain as they were for much longer. He was in need of a male heir. Beth might feel strongly about a daughter being able to inherit all that was her father’s, but he knew his own sex better than her. Most would
not give women the same respect as they would a man and would attempt to trick and cheat a female. He considered how if he did not beget another son and Lydia were to marry, then it would be her husband who would eventually take control of Gawain’s land and other possessions. He felt a spurt of anger and decided that, if he were to find his daughters and Mary refused to return home with them, he must seriously consider what action he could take to free himself of her. But first he must deal with the dilemma that Beth Llewellyn presented him with. Right now he found himself sympathising with her in her position. Really, he could not blame her for wanting to have possession of her father’s business and not handing it over to a man who was a complete stranger to her.

He did not see Beth again until supper and, as he had mentioned his meeting with James Tyler to his aunt earlier, it was not surprising that the main topic of conversation was James’s approaching nuptials.

‘He has made a good choice in his wife,’ said Catherine. ‘Mildred is warm-hearted and patient and her mother has trained her well. She will run his household and entertain those with whom he does business in an exemplary manner.’

Beth paused with her spoon held halfway to her mouth. ‘And will he make her an excellent husband?’

‘They have known each other since childhood, as have their families, so I am sure they will rub along perfectly amiably,’ said Catherine.

‘Amiably—so they are not in love?’ asked Beth thoughtfully.

Catherine smiled. ‘Surely that depends on what you mean by love? From what I have seen, as an onlooker, love can grow between husband and wife after a while. Besides, I deem it far better for a couple to like each other and then they are more likely to be tolerant of the other’s shortcomings. No one is perfect.’

‘As I have already said to Sir Gawain, perfection in a man is not a trait I desire,’ said Beth promptly. ‘I consider it would be exceedingly uncomfortable living with such a person. As I am far from perfect myself I would prove a disappointment to him.’ She glanced at Gawain. ‘Still, I would hope that those suitors you will eventually consider as a husband for me would appreciate my finer qualities.’

‘Do you know that part in the scriptures where it lists the attributes of the most excellent wife?’ asked Catherine.

Beth frowned in thought. ‘Does it not say something about her excellence when it comes to spinning and making fine clothes and her being worth her weight in rubies?’

‘It says a lot more than that,’ said Gawain, frowning, ‘including that a virtuous woman’s price is far above rubies.’

Beth shot him a glance, recalling the way she had made no attempt to remove herself from his embrace in the stables. Perhaps he thought she was not as virtuous as she should be. He had entered her bedchamber the evening before and a gentleman should not have done
so but most likely he did not consider her a lady. After all, her father had been involved in trade. Even so, she found herself saying, ‘But should a woman not expect the same behaviour in a man as he does from her?’

A muscle clenched in Gawain’s cheek. ‘Of course. I’m sure you’ll be able to discuss with my aunt the different merits of any suitors I present to you when the time comes,’ he said.

‘I have compiled a list as you suggested, Sir Gawain,’ she said, holding his gaze steadily. ‘You might wish to see it before you choose someone amongst your acquaintances that might suit me.’

‘No doubt it will prove interesting,’ said Gawain. ‘I have wondered if perhaps a much older man might be best for you. A kindly gentleman who will indulge and dote on you.’

Beth was startled by his suggestion. ‘You would marry me off to a man who would soon make a widow of me?’

‘Why not? For a woman who has stated that she’d prefer to remain a spinster, but knows that she must marry, I would have thought that an ideal choice.’

‘It is worth considering,’ said Beth coolly. ‘Only we are both forgetting that I need a man who is capable of fulfilling my father’s wish for a grandson. A lusty man, who is also physically strong and so able to protect us both from those who might seek to harm us.’

‘Are those qualities on your list?’ asked Gawain wryly.

‘Some of them,’ replied Beth with a sudden smile.
‘And for the rest I would that you will bear them in mind.’

‘Of course! I am not an ogre,’ replied Gawain, warmed by her smile. ‘Just as long as you remember that the odds against my finding you the kind of husband who would meet all your requirements are likely to be high.’

Beth shrugged and said in a droll fashion, ‘That is what bothers me.’ She gave her attention now to her food.

Catherine’s eyes darted from Beth to her nephew. ‘The Hurst brothers might be at James and Mildred’s wedding. You remember them, Gawain?’

‘Of course,’ he said in a toneless voice.

‘You do not like them?’ asked Beth, lifting her head and staring at him.

Gawain hesitated. ‘One of them will definitely not fit your criteria as Christopher is already married with four offspring.’

‘What about his brothers—are they older or younger than him?’ asked Beth.

‘Younger,’ replied Gawain. ‘The Hurst family home is near Greenwich. They have a large shipyard and have built ships for the king and his father before him. Just like James Tyler, they also hire out their ships and are involved in trade.’

‘So they live closer to London than you do,’ mused Beth.

‘Obviously,’ said Gawain, cutting up a slice of meat on his plate.

‘And their names?’

‘Nick and Pip.’

‘Pip?’

‘Phillip. He’s the youngest.’ He raised his eyebrows and felt a spurt of irritation. ‘I see I have roused your curiosity.’

‘Was that not your intention? It is you who is set on my marrying,’ she challenged.

He frowned. ‘Aye, because it was your father’s wish. But perhaps it is best I say no more about the Hurst brothers now, so you can make your own judgement when and if you meet them.’

‘Surely you can describe their appearance?’ said Beth.

‘No.’

‘Are they ugly?’ she persisted.

He sighed and shrugged.

Catherine glanced at her nephew. ‘You should not tease Beth.’

‘All right, they are not ugly,’ said Gawain, putting down his knife. ‘But I am not convinced either would make you a suitable husband.’

‘Why?’ asked Beth. ‘Is it that they are not brave and daring?’

‘Ha! You want brave and daring, too, in a man?’ said Gawain, his blue eyes glinting.

‘I might not have written those down but, aye, I would like a brave and daring suitor,’ she replied seriously.

‘They don’t always make the best husbands if they are off on adventures all the time,’ grunted Gawain.

Beth frowned. ‘I had not thought of that. Tell me—’

‘No more questions,’ said Gawain firmly. ‘The wedding is still weeks off and there is much to be done to set your affairs in order before then! As soon as Sam returns I will have to go to London, remember? Perhaps I’ll find a husband for you there. Let us pray that Sam has had no difficulty finding the account book or delivering my message to your father’s lawyer or I shall have to set aside all thought of seeking a husband for you.’

‘You’re saying that finding the murderer must come first,’ said Beth slowly.

He hesitated, then nodded.

Sam returned three days later, bringing with him not only the accounts book, but an offer of a bed for the night from Master Llewellyn’s lawyer.

‘I will bear that in mind,’ said Gawain. ‘So how did you find everyone in Pater Noster Row, Sam?’

‘The printers and the bookbinders seem to have plenty of work, sir,’ replied Sam. ‘But all came to a standstill when I told them what had happened. Naturally they were shocked and Edward Stanton, the master printer, was especially angry. Apparently there had been talk of an important pamphlet to be printed to be distributed at Bartholomew Fair, when, as you know, thousands come from all parts of the country.’

Gawain frowned. ‘Did he tell you what this pamphlet was?’

Sam shook his head. ‘But I can tell you that the news of the master’s death has spread like wildfire because
there were visitors aplenty coming into the bookshop and expressing their sympathy for Mistress Beth.’

Gawain said, ‘I hope you did not tell anyone, Sam, where your mistress is staying?’

Sam shook his head. ‘I just told them that she was spending time in the country mourning her father, but plenty showed concern about what will happen with the business. I told them that you were her guardian now and would be visiting London within a week or so.’

Gawain wished that Sam had kept his name out of this a bit longer, but as it was likely to become public knowledge once he arrived in London, he made no comment. ‘I’ll have food and ale brought to you here in the hall, Sam, whilst you and Mistress Beth see what you can discover from the accounts book.’

‘I’ve thought of a name, sir, but I’m saying nothing until I see the dagger again and Mistress Beth reads out the names.’

Gawain went and fetched the dagger and gave it to Sam. ‘Whilst you’re inspecting it again, I’ll fetch your mistress,’ he said, having noticed her heading for the garden.

Beth had been gathering herbs and was cutting stems of fennel to serve as a vegetable to accompany the fish for supper when she saw Gawain approaching. Her heart performed an odd little leap. ‘You look to be in a hurry, sir,’ she called. ‘Is something amiss?’

‘Sam has returned and I thought you would wish to set aside what you’re doing and take a look at the accounts book with him,’ said Gawain, stopping a foot
or so from her. He noticed that the sun had brought out a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose and that there was perspiration on her brow. ‘Where is your hat?’ he asked, frowning. ‘Your skin will burn if you do not protect it.’

‘You deem that a suitor will not accept me with a sun-kissed face?’ she said lightly.

‘No, only that you could end up with a megrim.’

She flushed. ‘I beg pardon. The truth is that I forgot it and did not wish to waste time going back to the house.’

She placed the scissors and fennel in the wicker basket on the ground, but it was he who picked it up and carried it. ‘Come, let us get you indoors,’ he said, taking her arm.

She felt a tingle of pleasure go through her and tensed, knowing she really must keep her distance from him, but before she could do so, he slackened his hold and she went ahead of him, calling over her shoulder, ‘What news has Sam of those in Pater Noster Row?’