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‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Gawain, frowning. ‘What work is this? Tell me?’
Encouraged and filled with an overwhelming need to share her secret, Beth said, ‘I know how to set type and to work the presses, and I have continued with the work Jonathan began. I write and print a newsletter and it is distributed in London and I am determined to carry on doing so.’
His eyes flared. ‘By St George, I believe you are serious!’
‘Indeed, I am!’ Her face was alight with enthusiasm. ‘I write about matters that I know will interest those who have learnt to read since their parents’ generation grasped the first books that came off Master Caxton’s presses here in England. They are eager for the written word and they desire more than just the gospels and stories of the saints. They enjoy the old tales from classical history such as Aesop’s Fables, but they also want to be kept informed about what is happening today.’
‘Are you saying that the printing and distribution of Holy Writ in our own tongue does not interest you?’ he asked, his dark brows knitting.
‘No, of course not,’ she said, flushing. ‘I am saying that the printed word has the power to do more than bring religious enlightenment to those who wish to read the gospels for themselves. It can educate, entertain and amuse on several topics.’
‘I agree that there is much enjoyment to be found in such as Homer’s Illiad, but the printed word can also be dangerous, as you well know. It can preach sedition and moral laxity,’ he said drily.
‘That is not my intention,’ she said hastily. ‘I sincerely believe there are many people who are eager to know what is happening in other countries. They are interested in the great occasions such as this one taking place here. They would also enjoy reading of the wonders of the Indies and the New World by those who have visited these lands.’
‘I would not deny the truth of what you say, but those accounts will be written by explorers and no doubt printed by men. I would be doing you a disfavour if I allowed you to hold out any hope of continuing with this newsletter of yours, Mistress Llewellyn,’ said Gawain, marvelling at the enthusiasm that gleamed in her lovely eyes. If only she would look at him in such a manner! He quashed the thought. ‘Obviously your father would have disapproved and that is why you kept it a secret.’
Deeply disappointed in him, she said, ‘Aye, because he thought, like you, that men can do most things better than a woman. We must be kept in our place under a man’s heel, to keep house, to be faithful and do what a man says and to bear him sons. Daughters do not matter. I pity your wife, because no doubt you do not appreciate your girls but long for her to give you a son!’
The anger he had suppressed for so long exploded and he seized hold of her. ‘I deem you have said enough, Mistress Llewellyn,’ he said in a dangerously low voice. ‘You have no idea of what is between my wife and myself. I, like many men, believe it is our God-given role to cherish and protect our women and children, whatever their sex. You would spread falsehoods and discontent if what you say is an example of your writing. I would be doing your readers a favour by taking your newsletter out of circulation.’
‘I will not be silenced,’ she said, glaring at him.
‘Will you not?’ he said harshly and pressed a fierce kiss on her lips.
A stunned Beth could do no more than remain still in his embrace, but her heart raced and her knees had turned to water.
He released her abruptly, furious with himself and her.
‘You should not have done that,’ she gasped, putting a hand to her tingling lips.
‘No, I should not,’ admitted Gawain hoarsely, turning his back on her and breathing deeply. ‘But you would cause a priest to forget his vows. Your father held you in high esteem as a housekeeper and spoke fondly of you. He wanted you safely married and that will be my aim. I must ask you to forgive me for losing my temper and I assure you that it will not happen again.’
‘I—I should think not! What would your wife say?’ cried Beth.
‘Shall we keep my wife out of this?’ he said, clenching his fist.
Her eyes fixed on his whitened knuckles and she knew that she had touched him on the raw. ‘I will not mention her again,’ she said stiffly. ‘Although if we were to meet in England—’
‘You would tell her?’ His expression was grim. ‘It is possible she would not believe you.’
There was a long silence as they stared at each other. Then he reached for a knife. She shrank back and he swore beneath his breath and began to slice a loaf. ‘Eat, Mistress Llewellyn, you need to keep up your strength if you are to survive the difficulties that lie ahead,’ he rasped.
‘I am no weakling nor did I say I would speak of that kiss to your wife. Rather I wonder how I could look her in the face, knowing that you had kissed me.’
‘It is the swiftest way I know to silence a woman,’ he said.
If he thought he had silenced her, then he was mistaken. Yet it had been such a kiss that she could still feel his lips’ impression on hers. How dare he accuse her of spreading falsehood and discontent when he had not read a word she had written! She would show him—but in the meantime, he was right about her keeping up her strength. She reached for the bread and cheese, determined to have her way, but uncertain yet exactly how to go about it. She supposed it all depended on what happened when they reached England. He could not force her to marry and no doubt he would need to leave her in London if he were to visit his wife and children. The sooner they parted the better—they obviously struck sparks off each other, rousing feelings that had to be suppressed.
Gawain wondered what she was thinking. What would she say if he told her that Mary had borne him a son, but the boy had died? How in the weeks that followed he’d had to contend with Mary’s coolness and impenetrable silences. He had tried to reason with her and get her to talk about their loss, but that had been a waste of time. Once he had discovered there was another man involved, it had caused him to wonder how long she had been making a cuckold of him and whether the boy had truly been his son or this other man’s child. He had tried to be a good husband to her—never had he beaten her or forced her to bend to his will as she had told him her father had done. Gawain had treated her with respect and warmth as he remembered his father treating his mother. There had been great love between his parents, but still it had been a terrible shock when his father had died on the hunting field not long after his mother had passed away. Although he had left no message, Gawain was convinced his father had not wanted to live after his mother’s death and had recklessly taken one risk too many. As if it had not been painful enough to lose his mother, he had felt utterly abandoned when his father died.
‘I must speak to my servants, Jane and Sam,’ said Beth, rousing Gawain from his reverie.
‘My man, Tom Cobtree, and the lad, Michael, should be here soon,’ he said, lifting his head. ‘I will instruct them on how to find your tent. Hopefully, your servants will have returned and Tom will have your maid pack your possessions and bring them here. It is best you sleep in this tent tonight. You and she can have my sleeping quarters. I want the men to make a thorough search of your tent and its vicinity in the hope of finding the dagger and any other clues that might point to the identity of the murderer.’
Beth accepted Gawain’s plan. She had no desire to return to the other tent where her father had met his death.
Within the hour, Tom and Michael had arrived; after a low-voiced discussion with Gawain, they left. Thankfully, Beth did not have to wait long before Jane came with some of her mistress’s baggage. Gawain excused himself and left the two women to rearrange the sleeping quarters.
Jane was old enough to be Beth’s mother and they were fond of each other. She was a widow and had lost two children in infancy. ‘What a terrible thing to happen, Mistress Beth,’ she said, dabbing her wet eyes with her sleeve. ‘What is the world coming to? How will we manage?’
Beth placed an arm around her. ‘I’m sure we will cope, Jane. It isn’t as if I was unaccustomed to running the household and, despite what Sir Gawain says, I am determined that my father’s business will not be sold.’
Jane’s face brightened. ‘That’s the spirit, Mistress Beth, although, I will say that I deem it a good thing that the master thought to enlist him to keep an eye on you.’
‘More than just an eye, Jane,’ said Beth, scowling. ‘Father asked him to find a husband for me. You can imagine how I feel about that.’
‘Your father only wanted what was best for you, Mistress Beth,’ said Jane, picking up the bundle of bedding she had brought with her.
‘What he thought was best for me,’ corrected Beth. ‘But he didn’t really know me. Even so, I’d like to go to the Church of the Nativity of Our Lady in the village and speak with the priest and have masses said for his soul. You can accompany me after we’ve finished here. I know some French and am sure I will be able to make my wishes known.’ She sighed. ‘Let’s hope that Sir Gawain and the other men will find some clue to the murderer’s identity.’
Gawain took the dagger from Tom and fingered the amethysts embedded in the hilt. ‘Where did you find it?’
‘In the corner over there,’ said Tom. ‘The grass hasn’t been flattened by the groundsheet and the cloth it was in was the same colour. Definitely worth a bit,’ he added with fine understatement.
‘I’ve a feeling I’ve seen that dagger before,’ said Sam.
Gawain shot a glance at the burly figure of Beth’s servant. ‘Are you sure? Think, man.’
Sam screwed up his lined face. ‘Perhaps it was in some nobleman’s house when I was out delivering books on the master’s orders. Couldn’t see any of our other customers owning such a blade.’
‘I presume there’ll be a list of Master Llewellyn’s customers back in London,’ said Gawain.
Sam nodded. ‘Mistress Beth will be able to put her hand on the book straight away.’
Gawain looked thoughtful. ‘But she didn’t recognise the dagger.’
‘She don’t go delivering, has too much else to do.’
Gawain placed the dagger in its cloth inside his doublet. ‘I’d best return to Mistress Llewellyn and inform her that we’ve found the weapon. Sam, if you would, pack your master’s possessions and bring them to my tent. Tom, you can come with me and cook us something hot for supper. You, Sam and Michael will share this tent tonight.’
The three of them nodded.
When Gawain arrived back at his tent it was to find it deserted. Where could Beth and her maid have vanished to? He was filled with unease, hoping they had not been followed earlier. Then he remembered what Beth had said about visiting the church in the village and decided to go and look for her there. He told Tom what he was about and then set off in the direction of Balinghem.
‘It is a sobering thought, Jane,’ said Beth in hushed tones as they left the church, ‘that my father’s bones will lie here in France. A country that he long regarded as the enemy.’
Jane glanced over her shoulder as they hurried past the churchyard. ‘You can’t trust the Frenchies. Their king might be all smiles now, but give him another month and he’ll be making up to someone else. The Scotties, mebbe, or even the Holy Roman Emperor Charles, himself.’
‘The Emperor is Queen Katherine’s nephew, so it is more likely that he and Henry might yet come to some agreement against the French,’ said Beth. ‘But these matters are for statesmen and royalty to sort out. We have enough problems of our own to deal with when we return home.’
‘Do you think Sir Gawain will move us from Pater Noster Row?’
‘I imagine that he has that in mind,’ said Beth. ‘With a murderer on the loose, no doubt he would consider it a sensible move.’ Even as she spoke, Beth caught sight of Gawain coming towards them. She frowned, her emotions in a tangle, and thought how strange it was that in such a short time she was able to recognise his form and his stride from a distance. She determined not to dwell on the kiss he had forced on her or how much she had liked it.
She waited until he drew closer before calling, ‘Good even, Sir Gawain. Did you find anything?’
‘Aye. Tom found the dagger. Somehow it must have been knocked from the table and landed in a patch of tall grass in a corner.’ Gawain gazed down at her and wondered if she was still angry inside because he had kissed her. ‘Your man, Sam, thinks he might have seen it in some nobleman’s house whilst delivering books. He can’t remember his name. He suggested that you look through the account book and read the names out to him, so that hopefully it will jog his memory.’
Beth felt a stir of excitement. ‘And if it can be proved that person was also here at the time of my father’s murder, then we have our killer.’
‘That is certainly a strong possibility,’ agreed Gawain. ‘In the meantime I must speak with Monsieur Le Brun and intend visiting Calais early tomorrow morning. I will return in time for your father’s burial.’
‘May I come with you?’ asked Beth. ‘I would like to see him.’
Gawain hesitated, then agreed.
The rest of the evening passed without further incident and although Beth slept only fitfully, towards the dawn she finally fell into a deep sleep.
When at last she did wake, Jane told her that Sir Gawain had given orders that she was not to be disturbed and had set off for Calais with Tom Crabtree, leaving Sam to keep a watch out for any sign of trouble. She was annoyed at being left behind, but soon decided there was little point in feeling that way. After a breakfast of bread and ham, she took paper and quill and ink and began to write down all that happened in the last twenty-four hours.
By the time she had finished the sun was climbing high in the sky and Gawain had returned.
One look at his face told Beth that something momentous had occurred. ‘What is wrong?’ she asked, starting to her feet.
‘Monsieur Le Brun has been murdered,’ said Gawain grimly.
Beth felt the blood rush to her head and collapsed on the ground.
Gawain cursed himself for his thoughtlessness and went down on one knee, placing his arms beneath her and lifting her up. He sat down with her on his lap and glanced at Jane, who had put down her mending and stood up. ‘Don’t stand there like a stock,’ he roared. ‘Fetch some wine.’
Jane hurried to do his bidding while Gawain tried to rouse Beth by patting her cheek and calling her name. He needed her to be strong when he was feeling aroused by simply holding her on his lap. He was annoyed with himself; he should not be feeling like this about her.
Beth’s eyelids fluttered open and she gazed up into his face. Realising that she was sitting in her guardian’s lap, she sat bolt upright. ‘Put me down at once!’ she ordered.
‘There is no need to panic,’ he said roughly, wishing she would keep still and hoping she was unaware of his arousal.
‘You—you did say that Monsieur Le Brun had been murdered?’ She swallowed a lump in her throat and, despite her earlier demand that he release her, clung to his doublet.
‘Aye, it was completely unexpected.’ His expression was serious. It appeared that perhaps after all they had a religious maniac on the loose. He could think of no other reason why the French master printer should have been killed, but one of his sons had told him that he had been providing Master Llewellyn with information about the teachings of the heretic Martin Luther for more than a year now, so maybe that was reason enough for a lunatic.
Beth’s eyes filled with tears. ‘He was such a kind, harmless old man,’ she whispered.
‘I’m going to get you on a ship to England today,’ said Gawain. ‘Whilst in Calais, I spoke to the master mariner of a vessel that is sailing this evening.’
‘Good,’ said Beth, relieved. ‘I will be glad to leave this place.’
Before she could say any more Jane brought the wine. Gawain took the cup from her and held it to Beth’s lips. She drank, but, despite feeling light-headed, as soon as she had drained the cup she insisted on getting to her feet. Gawain wasted no time in helping her up and then ordered the men to make ready the horses and to pack the tents, bedding and baggage in a wagon.
Beth and Gawain conversed little on the journey to Calais. She could not deny that she would have been more anxious if it were not for his presence. Yet she knew she could not depend on him to keep her safe once she arrived home, despite his promise to her father. He had a wife and children and she would not have him risk his life for her. One thing was for certain—the death of Monsieur Le Brun proved that her father must have had something to do with the printing of religious information coming out of Europe. She still could not believe that Jonathan was involved. Yet if he had not been, then why had he been killed? Could it have been purely because he was his father’s son? If so, that meant her life really could be in danger, too.
Chapter Three
Gawain stood at the side of the ship, gazing towards the port of Smallhythe, positioned on the bank of the River Rother where his boatyard, amongst others, was situated. Raventon Hall lay further inland up a hilly road that led to the town of Tenderden and beyond to the Wealden forests, nestling between fields where sheep grazed. He felt a swell of emotion, glad to be back despite the difficult situation he found himself in. If it were not for his concern for his daughters and the hope of having news of them, he would have sailed for London first to visit Beth’s father’s lawyer before going home. He needed to get her off his hands before he succumbed to temptation again. She held an attraction for him that went beyond mere physical beauty that he found baffling. She was self-opinionated, stubborn and had no mind as to how a lady should behave. But she was also well-read and clever and he could see her attempting to best him at every turn, especially when it came to choosing her a husband or deciding what to do with her father’s business.
Of course, he could send her to London by road with her servants and his own man, Tom, but would she be safe? It all depended on the murderer’s motives and whether he was a dangerous fanatic or a person of intelligence and cunning. He came to the decision that for now Beth would be safer at Raventon than in London. He would place her in the care of his Aunt Catherine, who hopefully knew better than to discuss her nephew’s most private affairs with anyone. He didn’t want Beth knowing what had been happening between him and Mary.
‘Do you have your own boat, Sir Gawain?’ asked a voice at his shoulder.
He turned and stared down at his ward’s sombre wind-flushed face. ‘Aye. Why do you ask?’
‘Because I am wondering if you will be taking me to London in it rather than continue there in this ship.’ Beth had also been wondering what he had meant when he’d said that she did not know what was between him and his wife. Perhaps she was not the wife he had desired or maybe he loved her and she did not love him?
‘Certainly not today,’ he answered.
She hesitated. ‘Of course, you will be hoping that your wife and children are home now. Surely that is all the more reason for me to leave you to enjoy their company. I and my servants could travel by road if you will lend us horses.’
Gawain shook his head. ‘It is best you rest after the journey. My wife has most likely not returned, but my aunt will make you welcome at Raventon Hall. There you will find peace and solitude and that is needful whilst you mourn your father. You need time to recover from the terrible shock you have suffered.’
Having hoped that she might gain some control over her own life once back in England, Beth was disappointed, thinking now of what she had been going to write for her news sheet, but she kept a grip on her emotions. ‘How much time are you talking about? It is thoughtful of you to consider my feelings in such a way, but I would prefer to go home,’ she said firmly.
‘Of course, but I doubt you will find much in the way of peace and solitude in London’s streets at this time of year, Mistress Llewellyn.’
‘I would not gainsay you, but I will need more clothes and items for my toilette if I am to stay in your home for more than a few days and there is much in my house that will need my attention,’ she said in a polite little voice.
‘Shall we leave the decision about the length of time you will stay until the morrow?’ suggested Gawain.
Beth decided she would have to be content with that suggestion for the moment. She did not want to appear to be difficult so that he would feel a need to have a watch kept on her. She nodded, adding, ‘Should you not warn your aunt of my arrival? I know how having unexpected visitors sprung on one can put all planning of meals askew and I do not wish your aunt to take a dislike to me.’
Gawain agreed.
As soon as the ship had anchored and all their goods were unloaded, Tom was sent on ahead to Raventon Hall. Beth gazed about her at the bustling little port. ‘Most of the buildings appear quite new,’ she said, accepting Gawain’s help up on to his horse; Sam was driving the cart with Jane sitting alongside him.
‘There was a fire here a few years ago and most of the houses were destroyed,’ Gawain said, swinging up into the saddle in front of her. ‘The majority of the buildings are of half-timbered design, but the new church is of red brick.’
‘I’ve never seen a redbrick church before,’ said Beth, hesitating to slip her arms about his waist and link her hands together despite knowing she would feel so much safer if she did so once the horse broke into a canter. Instead she gripped the back of his doublet and hoped for the best. ‘How far is your home?’ she asked.
‘Tenderden is less than a league’s distance from here. Most of the timber for the boat-building yards is transported by river via the town.’
Beth gazed about her as they made their way out of the port of Smallhythe. ‘Tell me more about the area, if you would?’
Gawain was pleased by her interest. ‘Tenderden is a centre of the broadcloth industry and so there are many spinners and weavers plying their trade. Some are of Flemish descent. Edward III forbade the export of unwashed wool and so they brought their specialist skills here.’
‘How interesting,’ said Beth, her fingers tightening their grip as the horse broke into a trot. She shifted closer to him and felt more secure moulded against his back and even a little excited. She blamed that on the speed at which they were travelling.
Conscious of Beth’s comely form in a way that he knew was not sensible, Gawain attempted to block out such thoughts by pointing out the church of St Mildred on the hill as they came into Tenderden. He thought of Mary and how glad he was that they had not married at the parish church. The one in Smallhythe had burnt down and in one of her rants she had stated it was a sign from God that their marriage was not of his will. His eyes darkened. In the light of what had happened since, it seemed she was right.
As they approached the house, Beth’s stomach began to tie itself into knots. What if the elderly sick relative had died and Sir Gawain’s wife had returned? She might resent his having brought a strange young woman to her home. Whilst Beth did not doubt that Gawain was the master in his own home, she knew enough about her own sex to realise that if his wife took a dislike to her, then she could make her stay very uncomfortable, indeed.
