Christmas vice and seasoning 1

 

1 Not Quite Allin-A-Dale part i

 

 

It was good to be back at Monkshithe; and the new hawks and falcons were settled in our mews and under training.  Rafe had roped in anyone who knew anything about birds and insisted that Oliver train a goshawk to his own use.  The boy will be a squire as ranks a lanner; but he’ll never learn younger to hawk a crossgrained creature like a goshawk.

I am not sure how the law stands as regard to Pernel firmly using her new goshawk, Gellert; as a child she should use a kestrel: as a woman she may use a merlin, or a sparrowhawk like a priest.  And the law states that it is forbidden to use a bird above one’s estate.

A goshawk is a yeoman’s bird; that ranks below a lady.  And I really could not see anyone trying to cut off the hands of a knight’s daughter; especially a knight’s daughter who has hawked with the king.

Naytheless, I suggested that Pernel should write to the king and explain how she had effectively rescued Gellert since the only man that could handle him was murdered; and that he had defended her valiantly from ruffians since and to ask the king’s own permission to fly the wretched bird.

The king, after all, had been known to grant exemption from the sumptuary laws; so why not from hawking etiquette? And one reason we wished to have a Flemish loom or two brought to England was that the law forbids anyone under the rank of lord wearing foreign wool; and the Flemish woollens were definitely superior.  That way we might claim such were woven on our own looms and let anyone disprove it.  An anyone actually take any more notice of the sumptuary laws than they do.

Women are exempt from them; the king believes in a pretty woman turning herself out as finely as she might.

 

The first thing we did when we got back was to arrange the celebration of Connie’s wedding to Vivian; we sent Valkensluft straightway to sail as far as Brent Eleigh up the Stour and its tributary, where so trim a craft might reach up river; and Vivian accompanied the ship, he said to be safe from the wedding preparations, but mostly to address Connie’s father for his permission as well as her mistress’s – me – to wed her and beg the attendance of Connie’s mother Grissel at her daughter’s nuptials. 

We had sent a man and his wife to ask Master Paul Cattermole to help him find work, who had taken him on himself; and with the fast travel made possible by a trim little ship, Paul decided that the whole family should come to see Connie wed since the harvest was in, and there were but the beasts to see to until the most of them be slaughtered at Martinmas.  Connie therefore had bridesmaids in her little sisters Jillian and Marigold, that being close enough in age to Pernel and Emma,  but a little younger, might wear gowns our girls had grown out of this year, made in identical style the larger in sage green kerseymere the smaller in sky blue, guarded with black silk, made as separates of doublet and skirt with separate sleeves; that our generous girls suggested giving to Con’s sisters rather than just loaning that they have something to remember the day with.

Grissel was overcome, but what are friends for but to give gifts to and do nice things for?  They should have some pretty things! Especially with Loveday, the eldest to dower.  And Paul was delighted that Vivian waived a dowry for Connie, saying with as much truth as jest that the good training in keeping house and cooking that her mother had given her was dower enough that she might bring in a wage as a housekeeper and quite three times as much as a maid of the chamber; being on a par with a secretary or chaplain. 

Con herself was ecstatically beautiful as a bride; looking an absolute picture in my cream silk with azure silk sleeves and stripes of the same applied to the skirt that made her eyes an even brighter blue; for we had not had time to make a new gown for her, for I could not sew on one when I was from home that she not be there for fittings.  Altering mine was a lot simpler.

She might have borrowed mine own wedding finery an she had wished, for pink too suited Connie very well; but she turned that down as too fine.

Connie had very fixed ideas about the rightness of things sometimes; that she actually took a fit of unwonted superstition over wearing her own best gown that we had made her for MY wedding, the pale silvery blue satin.  Mind, that WAS a rather thin garment for this weather; and she wore a blue woollen gown bodice, sleeves and all under the silk in addition to a petticoat, for Connie was no fool.

And she let me gift her with the gown as well, after arguing; for I wished her to feel as lucky in it as I had always done, my first true fine gown.

And all the house turned out to wish her well and cheered Vivian when he gave her a hearty buss after the ceremony.

 

Meantime we were continuing to really stamp the personality of our own family onto Hobbes Hall; and that of our Italian connection.

Robin decreed that his apprentices should learn the art of fresco painting as being a good standby and even practised – however unwillingly – by that nasty-tempered genius Michaelangelo, who was in the throes of the last stages of finishing painting a ceiling in the new Sistine Chapel in Rome, and Rafael had written to us recently that his language about it was quite intemperate and inappropriate for a Holy Place.  Mind, after painting for four years lying on his back, for one who was primarily a sculptor not a fresco painter, one might almost forgive him for that save that he had never been so douce at the best of times.  Fresco painting is notoriously badly paid but I wager Michaelangelo managed to wring better than the going rate of a ducat a foot out of Pope Julius by one means or another.

The fit of fresco madness had come on Robin back in the summer because of how much better he might have painted the ceiling in the Great Hall at Wytch Hall in Dorset with its diseased sheep that may have been meant to be clouds.

Robin picked the long North Wall of our Great Hall to so decorate and modernise.

We were making additions to the house on this wall, and had pierced a door through it, equidistant from the eastern end, where the kitchen is, to the door into the chapel from the western, or solar end.  And this door was kept securely locked while it still opened onto a long drop; for the Hall, being built over an undercroft, is on the upper storey.  It would open eventually onto a balcony running along our projected loggia, that would be a dry place for the children to play in winter and a cool place to eat as an alternative to the Hall in summer.

Whilst we had the wardship of Criseyde and Eglantyne we had access to the stoneworks Criseyde owned; digging good Portland stone, that would make splendid pilasters for our loggia, and the flooring too.  It would reach two storeys high for that door and balcony, the hall and undercroft to back it, one end enclosed by the chapel’s east wall and the other two sides open and overlooking the garden.  That was now much more a garden and less a plot of weeds, and would be a shady haven to enjoy it in summer.  I looked forward to dining in it with the scents of mine herbs redolent in the warm evening air of next summer.

This Italianate conceit of ours was to begin with the fresco within, that was to be a simple garden scene, light and airy, that would delight the senses of our less well educated dependants and servants as well as pleasing us; and it would provide a source of botanical education too.  The two doorways were to be incorporated in the design as archways, with brick walls covered in climbing plants painted as coming to meet them from each end; and by the use of perspective, seeming to turn away to make a large enclosed garden of the central section of the wall. With climbing roses and woodbine and travellers’ joy covering the archways they would be pretty indeed and the doors no intrusion.

It was Oliver's idea to add a view of Florence in the background as though looking over the ‘wall’ of the ‘garden’ towards it; as a reminder of our ties to that lovely city. And we all concurred with such a suggestion enthusiastically.  Robin and I got out our sketches from the library, drawn from hills overlooking Florence, that the children might work from; for we have many of such sketches.  And as Robin had not been looking for them lately they were still exactly where I had placed and inventoried them in the library.

In the months since we had taken over the wardship of the two young girls, Eglantyne had shown an interest in our art, stemming from the portrait we had painted of the girls’ dead mother.  She had a surprising degree of talent, too.  Robin therefore enrolled her as his apprentice, that as a younger daughter she might always have a means to earn for herself.

I had initially been rather dubious; for Eglantyne could put on the parts of a spoiled brat.

I was to be much surprised; to my gratification the child took to running errands and doing dirty menial tasks as an apprentice far more willingly than she had in her training to run a household as a lady.

Perchance it was just that she saw more point in it.

Perchance it was that she had ever had the itch to draw and create and had not had the outlet for her talent before – and it was a more than moderate talent by a long way – and such had fuelled her resentment of doing anything else and soured her disposition.

She was a nicer child almost over night and I was glad for her.

It made her easier for the other children to get on with, and even Emma, who had once asked an we had to have her live with us, had told her,

“I’m glad you’re here with us as an apprentice, Egg; you’re all right really.”

Criseyde showed no inclination whatsoever to draw; but she was the heiress to a considerable fortune as needed no trade, so long as she not perceive it as an excuse to idle.

Besides, she had settled very well to housekeeping; and her creative abilities showed themselves in a good eye for sewing. She was now learning to measure by eye and cut out garments; which skill I have only ever trusted Emma with of all our other children and wards.

I would no sooner trust Pernel with shears and fabric than I would Robin; both were far to likely to fall into a brown study over some obscure literary reference and create havoc fit only for Germans, as like their garments slashed as though they had already been into battle.  And that in the sense of the word ‘havoc’ meaning to show no mercy nor expect any; and the crying of havoc long banned by the Pope.

 

Frescos, if not complex and awkward things like ceilings, are quick to paint, by their very nature.  One binds the pigment to the wet plaster, in which process that horrid substance lime is used; but fortunately in small quantities that did not constitute any real risk to the youngsters.  Especially Emma who was prone to fall in anything that may be loosely described as wet.

The two doors in it gave easily completable sections and the end sections less complex and so good for the children to practise on.

Half the village had managed to find errands at the Hall to gawp at our younglings at work; and those of our wards and such who were not artisitic stood watch to prevent the disaster of curious pointing fingers coming too close and ruining careful work.

We had some finishing to do on our return from the Low Countries and celebrated the final completion at Martinmas, the feast to celebrate St Martin of Tourse, tutelary saint of Hobbeshithe St Martins; and so invited Berengar Woodhill and his chaplain as well as the whole village.

Martinmas is also the day the majority of the animals are brought from pasture to be slaughtered; and the entrails are traditionally fried as a means to use them up quickly as a Martinmas dish; which is another day on which goose is traditionally served.

It was a tight squeeze to get everyone in and required several trestles, and those at the low tables must needs be very friendly but we got them all in, though some of our own servants must sit at tables on the gallery above the hall, where too our musicians played merrily.

Jodoc had a new song for us, that he thought came from Scotland and that he had been saving for Martinmas, called ‘The Wife of Usher’s Well’.  It tells of a goody whose three sons are drowned at sea and who prays so hard to see them again that they are permitted to visit for a single night, Martinmas, and must needs be away by dawn.  The poor woman’s anguish is poignant.  We applauded loudly for the song and Berengar was moved to send up a purse to them.

The feast went down well.

How many of our villagers would subsequently fall down the steps from the door to ground level on the way out was debatable; for ale and cider had flowed quite freely.

That was another piece of building that we had just had completed; a porchway enclosing the steps and door alike that was a further bar to winter weather, even as the loggia would help keep draughts from the northern side.  A fireplace at each end of the great hall did NOT combat draughts from a door directly onto the outside, even if it did face south.  The porchway encompassed the kitchen door also, and that would too help to keep the kitchen cooler in summer.  We had placed hooks such as are in a garderobe to hang garments on, for the purpose of leaving wet garments at the bottom of the steps that servants might take them through the kitchens to the laundry to dry and clean any mud out of them.  We had taken the idea from a more modern house we had seen: and had been much taken with its practicality.  As our door was upstairs, we had taken the idea a stage further and laid a floor on a level with our Hall, there being then a small chamber that was a convenient office for the taking of the Quarter Day payments of rents with a small dormant table and chair within.

 

We had a visitor the day after the feast, the Friday.

It was a young man; and a very young man at that, scarce more than a boy, fair, small of chin and large of upper teeth in the way of so many in Suffolk, but not so much as to prevent him from being not ill-looking in a slightly weak way.  A woman who loved him could call him handsome without it being risible.  His woollen clothing was good without being sumptuous, the black dye a slightly brownish black. The guarding on the black wool doublet mockado of a fair quality, not velvet and the fur at wrists and bands of his tan jerkin did not go quite far enough to hide that it was no true lining, that being wool like the outside.  The fur was common grey rabbit that was neither grey nor brown, and it was warm enough but no real statement of sumptuary.  The lad affected slashed upper stocks of his madder pink hose and had not been done terribly well and the slashes pulled any which way to the detriment of the yellow satined linen lining.

Connie had announced his presence in her usual blunt way.

“There be a fellow without in the hall wanting to petition Sir Robert, that look to be afflicted either by love or by emerods.”

Connie let her wit loose on others less well endowed in such a respect as herself an she find them as she considers contumelious; and marriage had evidently not mellowed that caustic tendency.

Good; I liked Connie as she was.

Robin had been painting; and had just finished a feverish bout of the same and was well pleased with the way things were going; so felt quite sanguine at leaving his work to see this young man, who louted rather awkwardly.

“Sir Robert,” he said “My name is Gabby Higson; and I have heard it said that yew do be a good and fair man wass ready tu turn asoide tu prevent ill deeds and injustice.”

“That we do, lad,” said Robin happily.

It had only been a small painting, some two feet across, on the canvas we had bought in great quantity for the greater convenience of taking such travelling as compared to wooden panels in the old style; and the subject was of Susannah, bathing, overlooked by some particularly lecherous looking elders, one of whom was recognisable as the Venetian ambassador in Valkenswaard, Silvino Rondella; and the other of whom bore a distinct resemblance to the Bishop of Norwich as I suppose was appropriate enough in a Biblical subject.

The model for Susannah was a girl called Moll, whose working name was Candace, who, with her friend Philippa, was saving to go to Florence where they planned to move from being expensive whores to being very expensive courtesans.  We paid for her modelling with lute and Italian lessons as a quid pro quo that neatly overcame the illegalities of paying girls to pose nude.  She was an ethereal looking girl and managed to look both spiritual and sexually alluring rising from her bath, just right for Susannah.

That would sell very well, probably to a churchman; and with only a few odd finishing touches to do, Robin was in an expansive mood.  He beamed happily at Master Higson, who took it as encouragement from so unexpectedly genial a knight; and galloped into the rest of his tale, leading with his teeth that made his Norfolk accent even harder to follow.

“Yew du see,” he said “I want tu rescue moine own true love from being wed tu an owd man wass the relative o’ her guardian, loike.”

“Why,” said I, realising that it was love then, not emerods that troubled him, “It sounds as like to the tale of Allin-a-Dale as makes no odds!”

“That indeed it does,” said Robin.

As he had the dreamy look that I could interpret to mean he was wondering how salacious, and therefore how saleable he might make a painting of that outlaw’s fair bride I took relatively little notice of mine husband.  He was only partially with us in any case.

Fortunately the youth had heard the tale of Allin-a-Dale; it being a tale as is known on the lips of all, that a man need not be of literary bent to know it, or any of the other stories of Robin Hood and his merry men.  He warmed to the encouragement of my gentle irony and Robin’s delighted imagination.

“So, Sir Robert, you will use your warrant from the king to stop this evil wedding, or write me an affidavit that I may do so?” demanded Gabby Higson.

Robin was not so far gone in post-pictorial ecstasy to be pushed that far.

He smiled genially but firmly.

“My wife and I will look into the matter,” he said “Where be this bride situated; and when be the wedding?”

“They will be wed next month!” cried the boy “There is no time to waste!”  Well that had been true an the wedding been this afternoon, but that was going too far, as even he saw; for he flushed, and answered the other question.  “Burd Priscilla Warrene resoides in Naaridge with her guardian’s brother wass she’s to wed,” said Master Higson, the horrid pronunciation of Norwich exacerbated by extreme emotion.

“Oh, how convenient,” said Robin “We might return Mistress Moll at the same time; an excellent thing altogether.  You rode here, lad?”

“Er, yes, Sir Robert,” said Higson.

“Well there is good stabling on the ship,” said Robin insouciantly “It will not take long to sail up the coast to Norwich; an we leave after the Noon meal we might sail back tonight.”

“Perchance Master Higson might fill us in a little more on Burd Priscilla’s guardian and the yclept bridegroom,” I said.

“Eh? Oh yes, excellent,” said Robin.

He was regarding Moll thoughtfully, for she had dressed and come to see what we were about.  I wager he was wondering an she might make Allin-a-Dale’s beloved, that need to be a similar type to a tragic muse.

He had plenty of sketches of her that he might work her into any number of paintings; and probably would.  Moll managed not to look in the least like a callet and Master Higson louted to her respectfully, doubtless assuming her to be a member of our household or even family.  As her indigo woollen gown was a better quality than his and guarded with extra lines of guarding with pale blue silk and linen mixed satin he had some cause.  Those girls knew how to dress well.

Moll had heard the bit about returning to Norwich, grinned at me to acknowledge Robin’s total lack of courtesy over discussing making such arrangements when he was immersed in painting and went to pack.

He was the soul of courtesy normally; but certain moods rob him of any thought save what he was doing at the moment.  It exasperated me at times, but I loved him for his absorption too.

Master Higson resumed his narrative.

“Burd Priscilla is the daughter of a knight; and she is an heiress that be whoi her graspin’ owd guardian doubtless want her wed tu a kinsman,” explained Master Higson.

“You are not, of course, yourself in love with her dowry as much as with her fair face?” I asked innocently.

“Moi LAERDY!  I should adore Priscilla were she a – a – a GOOSE GIRL!” he declared. “It be her fair face and ready wit, her pleasant voice and keen intelligence wass attracted me! She be the most beautiful girl in Naaridge!”

It would then be tactless to point out that in that case he scarcely would be likely to love her an she be a goose girl; for such would have little education, and being close to fowl of any kind does not stimulate the wit and the voice of a goose girl accustomed to shout ‘goose-goose-goose-goose GOO-oose’ to bring the beasts home is strident but not usually pleasant.  It is the trouble with those who have too much romance and not enough wit that they must needs come out with pretty sentiments instead of common sense; that they do not think things through.

“How came this knight’s daughter to be in the care of this particular guardian?”  I asked.

“Why, because Dean Thomas Thaxtead was a friend of her father; they went to grammar school together I believe,” said Master Higson “Aye, and Sir Peter, her father, left instructions in his will that the poor girl go to Dean Thomas for instruction in Latin – an yew ever hear such!”

“You deplore that she was not instructed in Greek too?” I could not resist it. “Perhaps it were a deficiency; but not all girls take to Greek scholarship.  I find it easy and so does our eldest daughter; but our younger daughter is content merely with Latin, though as she be but eight years old she may yet change her mind.”

He goggled and his mouth fell open foolishly.

“Moi Laerdy!” his accent was thick with emotion “Dew yew mean as YEW read Latin?”

“Naturally,” I said coolly “The offspring of a gentleman, especially a knight or higher, ought not to be deficient in academic pursuit any more than in wifely skills.  It means she then be fitted to be a good companion to an husband of her own estate; or to act as secretary to any yeoman she love well enough to accept his own deficiencies in learning an she choose to marry beneath herself.”

I emphasised her estate; for I was beginning to wonder an any educated girl was likely to prefer this rather limited youth for any recommendation but his age and fervour.  Unless she hated being educated; as I believed some did.

I was beginning to think we might have to find a way to remove her to a house where she might have the level of intellectual stimulation she might find more to her taste, and she hate the idea of marrying the boy too; that if need be, Father Eusebius would back us over.

I was puzzled as to how she came to meet this limited boy; and how come she was living with a man that was free to wed her.  I had lived with Robin as his apprentice but we had been looked at askance by some even so; and it was not so regular a situation.

“So how is it that you came to meet the fair Priscilla and win her regard; and what can you tell us of this wicked suitor of hers?” said Robin, pre-empting my next question, and with his tongue very firmly in his cheek.

It did sound rather like one of the more hackneyed romances after all.

“Well the bridegroom, wass a clothier, is called Torey Thaxtead, that Priscilla have lived with under his roof since she were orphaned at nine years owd,” said Higson a trifle reluctantly “I bein’ his apprentice then and just two years owder nor what she be; and Master Thaxtead’s woife were aloive then, and when her doid, Priscilla were twelve and her tuk over all the housekeepin.  And now she be fifteen and a pretty little ow’ mauther; and I do not doubt that I will soon be his journeyman and thass WRONG that he should wed her and he an owd man wass tharty foive years at least!”

I’m afraid I burst out laughing.

He gave me an injured look.

“Mine husband is eight-and thirty years old, and I do not in any wise think him an old man,” I said crisply “That you may so insult him in his own halls!  Although I suppose from mine advanced eld of eighteen years perchance I am closer to him in age.  No, wait; the difference in age between mine husband and myself is the same as between thy beloved and this Master Thaxtead.  And I fifteen like her when I decided to wed my Robin.  But perchance the situation is different; that Priscilla have told you that she hates the idea of marrying Master Thaxtead and adores you?”

He flushed dully.

“I hev never hed the temerity to discus ut with her,” he said “But I see not how a broight and vivacious maid can be anything but distressed to hev to marry a man twenty years her senior what hev lands and wealth of her own!”

“I am crushed,” I said “Master Higson thinks I am neither bright nor vivacious.”

“A bit of an insult to my lovely wife, lad,” said Robin.

Gabby Higson flushed again.

“I – I did not say that!  I did not MEAN that!  I cin understand as how a girl wass got nuthin’ ood marry a knoight….”

“Thy tactless words implied an insult,” I said “In calling me dull effectively; and as you further insult mine estate as granddaughter of a baron by suggesting I be a venal little piece as married for money, almost calling my honour into question there too I think you should apologise.”

I was angry.

He looked crushed and stumbled through an apology.

Ketty little tyke, he was making assumptions based on my colour; I wondered an he made as many assumptions about Burd Priscilla.

“Do YOU have Latin?” I asked him.

“Only what the local priest beat into me,” said he sulkily “It is a loathly language!”

“And does Priscilla say so?” I asked.

“Eh?  Oh she put on a brave face and say it be not so hard at all and read aloud from some coystril called Horace to Master Thaxtead,” said Higson.

We both spluttered to hear Horace referred to as a coystril.

He may not always be morally edifying but that was going a bit far.

“Master Thaxtead also reads Latin then?” asked Robin.

“I should think so; him being at same school as his older brother as I should suppose.” Said Higson.

I caught Robin’s eye and sighed.

We should go and see; but a girl who read Horace aloud to a man was scarce likely to like this barely literate oaf to husband.  And a girl who reads Horace to a man is probably fond of him.

However, an she WERE being forced to marry her guardian’s brother this we must also find out.

And find out whether she HAD to marry him, should he have been delving her in place of his wife as well as her keeping house; that appeared not to have occurred to Gabby Higson as seemed as innocent of vice as he was of Latin, or indeed intellect.