‘I could not, for Hester’s sake, see her mother hanged. The poor girl had had more than her share of troubles. I only regret that Danes was not able to find me when she came to France.’
‘I regret too, sir, that our paths never crossed,’ said Danes. ‘I feared that you were dead.’
As May came into blossom, Charles II was proclaimed King of England. All London became giddy with the thought, like a tipsy old widow putting on her finery after years of mourning. Everyone’s spirits suddenly lifted. The hope for the future was good and the cry on every street corner was ‘To the King his own!’
On the day after my return, Danes took me to see Master Thankless. Hester was right: Bridge Street was hardly recognisable. It was undergoing a feverish transformation. Buildings were being painted, windows mended, flags hung out for the King, who was due to enter London over the great bridge. A maypole with the King’s flag on it had been put up near Bridge Street, and although some soldiers tried to have it removed it stayed firmly upright.
The streets were awash with colour. Never in this world had I seen such a collection of brightly dressed people as there were on Thames Street that morning. Gone were the sober blacks and greys. Now defiant scarlet, pink, yellow and purple met the eye.
It was official. The country had sent the Puritans packing and it was hard to believe that anyone had ever supported Oliver Cromwell.
On our way we bumped into Mistress Jones, who was full of complaints about the money being spent and the fuss being made.
‘If we cannot celebrate the King’s return, what can we celebrate? ’ said Danes.
‘Hmm,’ said Mistress Jones. ‘I think we shall all live to regret the day we asked him to come back. In my view, we should have kept to being a God-fearing Republic.’
Danes drew herself up. ‘How can you say that? Oliver Cromwell was nothing but a usurper.’
‘Come,’ I said hastily, taking her arm, ‘we shall never get all our errands done if we stand here all day arguing.’
‘Why, some people...’ she said as we neared the tailor’s shop.
I had to smile. ‘At least Mistress Jones is making no disguise of the fact that she supported Oliver Cromwell. I suspect that if we asked these other folk, we would find it hard to get a single one of them to confess to being a Puritan.’
The bell to the shop rang out merrily and Nell opened the door. Her hand flew to her face when she saw me.
‘Oh, take me to sea in a sieve! You’re back safe!’ she said. ‘And what a fine lady you are, to be sure! You’d turn the King’s head.’
Master Thankless looked up from his cutting table.
‘Coriander!’ he said, coming over and kissing me on the cheek. ‘I told you, Mary, she would come back looking more beautiful than ever.’
‘Is all going well?’ I asked.
‘I feel like a lord,’ said the tailor. ‘And if business keeps on like this, I shall be richer than the King. Why, everyone wants new clothes. They want to look as bright as peacocks’ tails, as colourful as parakeets.’
He took us down to the kitchen and opened a bottle of Rhenish wine. The fresh-faced new apprentice, Tom, brought in bolts of fabric for us to look at.
‘I have been told that you are in need of new gowns in the latest French fashions,’ said Master Thankless.
‘That is right,’ I said, feeling very merry, for it is a pleasant and cheerful thing to have a new gown made.
Master Thankless went to no end of trouble to show me all his fine fabrics, winking as he said he kept these only for his favourite customers. In the end I settled upon a flowered satin gown of pale green and to go with it a petticoat of striped silk. Then I chose a bodice made of water-marked taffeta with full sleeves, trimmed with silver lace and pearls, and to top it all, a cut skirt to be tied back so that my pretty petticoats could be seen.
‘Well,’ said Master Thankless when all the measuring and the patterns had been agreed, ‘by my word, you will look a princess. Now, has Danes told you the news?’
‘No,’ I said uncertain as to what news he meant. Danes blushed, which was most unlike her, and said, ‘Of course I have not. We agreed to wait until we were all together again.’
‘What is this news?’ I asked.
Master Thankless held Danes’s hand and said with a smile as big as his face, ‘Mistress Danes - Mary - has consented to marry me.’
‘No!’ I said, jumping up. ‘Why, that is wonderful! I am so pleased for you!’ And I kissed them both soundly.
‘Who would ever have thought it?’ said Danes, flustered. ‘I truly believed I was too old to be loved.’
‘Never,’ teased Master Thankless. ‘Age has only added to your charms.’
34
The Perfect Wife
Although surrounded by so much happiness, I often felt sad. I would look at my father and at Danes, at Hester and her baby, and suddenly, like a beam of sunlight in a shuttered room, I would be transported in my mind to that other world, to Tycho and all that I had had to leave behind.
I knew that in returning, I had made the right decision. This is what my mother wished for me, here my future lay, but this knowledge did not still my sense of regret.
I was not helped by the Bedwells, who had come to the conclusion that I would make Edmund the perfect wife. In fact, this seemed to be taken as a matter of course by everyone except me. Apparently, there was no greater asset to a father than an unmarried daughter, as long as that unmarried daughter did not take too long in finding herself a suitable husband.
‘I am not agreeing to marry a man I have not seen since I was a child,’ I said to my father. I was sitting in my chamber and Danes was dressing my hair and placing in it some flowers.
‘Of course not, my poppet,’ he said, ‘though I am sure you will be most impressed with Edmund. I have heard that he is a very clever, personable young man with a bright future. He wants to get into Parliament.’
What could I say? That I was not a parcel to be bought or shipped? Danes pulled the laces of my dress tight as my father continued.
‘He is an ambitious young man and my happiness would be complete to see not only the King restored but my daughter settled.’
‘I have only just come back, and already you want me gone,’ I said.
My father’s face fell.
‘No, that is not what I am saying. I only want what is best for you. I do not want to lose you ever again.’
Oh, how I wanted to tell him about Tycho. I looked quickly at Danes but I could tell by her expression that she thought I should keep him to myself.
On Wednesday, as promised, we were invited to luncheon at the Bedwells’, and Danes helped me dress in my new gown. I have never been one for staring vainly at myself in the looking glass, but even I was somewhat surprised and gladdened by what I saw. I was a fine young lady. Danes stood there saying I near shamed the sun itself. My father agreed, saying he had never seen me look more lovely. He was wearing his new periwig with many a fine curl hanging down, good wide lace at the neck, and a suit of plum velvet with an embroidered coat. We looked a grand pair indeed, said Danes, and even though the Bedwells’ house was no distance, my father sent for a sedan chair to take us there.
The luncheon was a formal one where we spoke only of things that mattered not a jot to anyone present, the conversation being as shallow as a silver serving dish.
I had, in all truth, been curious to see Edmund again. We were placed next to each other and he took my hand and kissed it extravagantly, all the while looking round at the other guests. I knew immediately that he was not for me. He was as full of his own virtues as some women are full of their modesty. For the whole meal, he talked about what he had achieved since he had left Cambridge. You could be forgiven for thinking that he alone had brought about the King’s restoration. In short, the man was a good-looking, boring, conceited fool.
After luncheon was over, we went upriver on the Bedwells’ barge.
‘A perfect match; they are
made for one another,’ I overheard Mistress Bedwell whisper to my father.
I sat with Edmund, feeling stiff and awkward and sure that Danes had tied my laces too tight. I had very few words, which mattered not to Edmund for as long as he could hear his own voice he seemed more than content. I took in the view of all the little boats that looked so pretty, and felt in the air the excitement of a city on the brink of change. The riverbanks were turning green again and houses that had been neglected had been newly painted. The taverns were full and as we passed, we could hear shouts for the King ring out, skimming the water like pebbles.
‘The theatres are to be opened again. The King is all for the play,’ said Edmund. ‘We should make an outing of it.’
There was no need for me to reply. I just had to smile and look interested, in short be nothing more than a doll, a pleasing poppet.
We went as far as Whitehall, which was being made ready for the King’s return, and saw the stone gallery which is mighty long, and I thought that this was where the King’s father must have walked on his way to his execution. Oh, how the tide had turned!
The palace was bustling with people and Edmund seemed more than a little annoyed to see that the riff-raff, as he called them, were allowed in. One young man took off his plumed hat and bowed at me in an elaborate manner.
‘What a silken fop,’ said Edmund, pointing at the young man. ‘He has so much ribbon about him, he looks as if he has plundered six shops and set up twenty country pedlars.’
Mistress Bedwell said Edmund was a most amusing young fellow, which I did not think boded well for her sense of humour.
We walked through the Privy Garden before going back to the Bedwells’ house, where we said our farewells. I had enjoyed being out on the river again and seeing Whitehall, and watching so many people go by. It brought colour to my cheeks, which Edmund took to be a sign that I was much taken with him. No doubt he thought our marriage was a foregone conclusion.
‘Coriander,’ called Hester when we returned. ‘Come quick! I have such wondrous news to tell you.’ I went upstairs to her chamber to find Joseph fast asleep in his cradle and Hester sitting on the edge of the bed.
‘Hester, what are you doing? Should you not be resting?’ I said.
‘I have been resting, but you will never guess who is here,’ she said excitedly.
‘Who?’
‘My brother Ned. He has just arrived. He has been all over the country trying to find me. Can you believe it?’
There was a knock on the door and there was Danes with a freshly laundered gown.
‘Coriander, your father wants you to come down and meet the visitor,’ said Danes. I smoothed out my skint and ran down to the study.
Ned Jarret was a big man, red-faced and with red hands. He had such a look of Maud about him that to begin with I felt anxious. It was only when he talked that all similarities with Maud ended, for a kinder, sweeter man would have been hard to find, and his story was a sorrowful one and most touching.
It appeared that he had got caught up in the fighting and joined Cromwell’s New Model Army. It was not until years later that he came across his father, living in penury in Birmingham.
Ned had been bruised about the head. He was much haunted by the dark things he had seen, and had little appetite for living. He took care of his father as best he could and later they were glad to find work in the North Country with a farmer who had lost all his sons in the fighting and needed help on the land, even from broken men. The two of them lived together in peace.
This much he told us before Hester came down. My father and I left them to talk, for it was clear that Hester wanted to be alone with her brother.
We were a large group to sit down that night for supper: Danes, Master Thankless, Hester and Gabriel, Sam, Ned, my father and me. The candles were guttering before half the stories were told.
‘Tell me, Ned,’ said Gabriel, ‘how long has it taken you to find Hester?’
Ned said very quietly, ‘I wish I had had a mind to look for her earlier, but my head was so muddled with memories of bloodshed that I could not think straight. When at last I went back to our village I was told all manner of tales, and I truly did not know who or what to believe.’
‘Is your father still alive?’ asked my father.
‘No, sir, he has been dead since last Michaelmas, God rest his soul.’
‘I am sorry to hear it, and I am sorry too that you did not find Hester sooner.’
‘So am I, for I would dearly love to have seen my father again and to have looked after you both,’ said Hester with tears in her eyes.
Ned took hold of her hand. ‘You were always in our prayers.’
Hester sobbed, and after a while my father said, ‘I must tell you, my dear sir, that you have released me from a tide of woes. To know that my marriage to Maud Leggs is more than dubious is a joy indeed.’
‘You cannot be married to her, sir. Surely there is no law that allows a woman to have two husbands at one time.’
‘Ned,’ said my father, ‘I assure you that I married your mother believing her to be a widow woman whose husband was killed in the war.’
‘I can credit that,’ said Ned. ‘She was a fearsome woman with little goodness or softness about her. When I was small, I thought she was the storm made real. She had had a hard life, one that had made her all the harder.’
Hester rested her head on her brother’s shoulder.
‘I was at my wits’ end to think I might never see you again. I did not care what befell our mother,’ said Ned, ‘but I loved you dearly, Hester. You were such a brave little girl and so sorely used. I lay awake many nights wondering about your fate. I expected to find you in a bad way from all the talk I had heard about my mother and the preacher. I am overjoyed to find you married and well settled in life.’
That night was the merriest I could remember for a long time. I thought what an odd collection we were, a Round-head who had fought for Cromwell and Royalists who had supported the King, each one willing to die for his beliefs, and yet here we all were with more to unite us than divide us.
‘This country has been torn apart,’ said Ned. ‘Brother against brother, father against son. Nothing good can come about when a dog starts to eat his own tail.’
‘Hear, hear,’ said my father. ‘This is a new decade and a new beginning. Let us hope this king will find a way to heal the wounds. Let the fountains run with wine, not blood.’
Hester said quietly, ‘Master Hobie, if my mother was never married to you...’
‘The best thing that came with your mother was you,’ said my father. ‘Why, look what a family I have. Now, that is something to be proud of.’
‘I quite agree,’ I said, ‘for I would never have had a brave and lovely sister had Maud not come into our lives.’
Ever since the luncheon with the Bedwells, Edmund had called each day to see me, whether he was welcome or not. In truth I began to dread his visits. I wished I could feel something for him, but I did not.
‘He is a good-looking man,’ said Hester.
‘I am sure he is,’ I replied.
‘He is clever. Why, Gabriel said he could talk Wednesday into Sunday if he had a mind to.’
‘I do not doubt it. Oh Hester, I feel nothing for him, nothing. ’
‘You well might in time. Why, many a man and woman who marry in this fair city do not think much of each other at first, and later fall in love.’
‘Hester, would you have married Gabriel and run away with him if you did not love him?’
‘No,’ said Hester. ‘But that is different. I mean -’
‘No it is not,’ I interrupted. ‘I would rather not marry at all than marry a man I cared naught for.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Hester. ‘You have it bad for someone. That much I can see.’
All I could do was nod, for sobs were doing their best to make a fool of me.
The more Edmund pushed himself upon me, the more I missed Tycho. Why could I not be l
eft in peace, given a chance to recover myself? Then maybe I would feel differently for Edmund, though I doubted it.
At night, alone in my chamber, I would look at my silver shoes and long for a different ending to my story. I could not sleep, I did not care to eat: in short, everything in me felt unsettled and jangled about. I almost regretted my decision to come back. I would have to dry my eyes and tell myself not to be childish.
No doubt my behaviour led everyone to believe that I was in love with Edmund, who clearly thought that it was his God-given right to have me as his wife. Quite how this all had come about so quickly, and without my compliance, baffled me and made me feel guilty too. In truth, I felt nothing for Edmund Bedwell and I longed for him to disappear. All I could think was that in life people prefer things to be tidy and I suppose a marriage is, after all, a familiar knot.
It was coming up to the end of May. Our household, like the rest of London, was preoccupied with the return of the King. Everyone wanted the day to go well and each family made their own plans for the celebration. Those fortunate enough to have houses that overlooked the route he was to take suddenly found they had many new friends.
The tailor’s shop had without doubt one of the best views. The plan was to go to Master Thankless early in the day, before the streets became too crowded. The whole of London was expected to turn out.
There was much excitement in our household because my father had been asked to accompany the King on his ride back to Whitehall. There was talk that he would be given a knighthood for services rendered to His Majesty. When Danes heard the news, she looked as if she was floating on air, so proud was she of my father. ‘Oh sir,’ she said, wiping her eyes, ‘Eleanor always told me that you would be a great man one day.’
The evening before, Edmund had come to our house and said that he wanted to talk to my father alone. I watched him from the landing. England was free of its tyrant and yet with every turn of the hourglass I felt my freedom slip away like the sands of time.