10 - The Goldsmith's Daughter Read Free Page B

‘surely you’re not going to charge this poor soul for that disgusting old garment?’
    He whipped round, a martial light in his eyes, but this faded as soon as he saw who it was that had addressed him.
    ‘Roger, you great lump!’ He threw his arms around me. ‘What are you doing in London? But whatever the cause, I’m delighted to see you. And Jeanne will be as pleased as I am.’ He turned to his customer. ‘All right, mother, you can have ’em for nothing. Go on, put ’em away before I change my mind.’
    He looked the same as ever, small and wiry with the thinning grey hair that made him appear older than his forty-four years. His voice still retained that rasping quality, which reminded me of iron filings being rubbed one against the other, and his weather-beaten skin was as heavily pock-marked as I remembered it. And when he moved, he still walked with the military gait he had acquired as a young man while soldiering in the Low Countries.
    As soon as I had made him free of the reason for my being in the capital, and as soon as he understood that I had married again, nothing could stem the tide of his enthusiasm. He immediately shut up his stall, ignoring the line of waiting customers, and piled his unsold clothes into a basket to take back to his shop.
    ‘Where is this wife of yours, then?’ he demanded. ‘Come along! Lead me to her and then you’re both going home with me.’ As I started to jib about his loss of trade, he slapped me on the back. ‘Don’t talk such blethering nonsense, man! Jeanne would never forgive me if I didn’t bring you to see her right away.’
    Jeanne Lamprey was indeed as pleased to see us as Philip had promised, and even more excited than her husband, if that were possible, at the news of my marriage. In the one room daub-and-wattle cottage behind their shop in the western approaches to Cornhill, she embraced us both fervently and plied us with meat, bread and ale, despite our assurances that we had eaten a good dinner at ten o’clock.
    I could see that Adela, in spite of being forewarned by me what to expect, was at first somewhat taken aback by our hostess’s youth and vitality. This little, bustling body, with the bright brown eyes and mop of unruly black curls, was, at that time, not yet twenty-one years of age and a most unlikely wife for someone like Philip. But she loved him deeply, ruled him with a rod of iron, had curbed his excessive drinking habits and pulled him up from penury and the gutter to be a respectable trader with a shop and a stall of his own.
    Her unreserved pleasure at meeting me again I found touching, considering that the last time we had met, a year ago, I had placed Philip in danger of his life. But Jeanne Lamprey was not one to bear a grudge, and one of her many qualities was her loyalty to friends. She was also extremely observant, and within quarter of an hour of being introduced to Adela, had wormed her secret out of her.
    ‘Well, I think you’re very brave to journey all this way in your condition in winter,’ she said, kissing my wife’s cheek. ‘But,’ she added accusingly, turning on me, ‘I can’t understand Roger allowing you to do it.’
    ‘You mustn’t blame him. He was given no choice,’ Adela answered quietly. ‘I was determined to come. I’d never been to London and I badly wanted to see it. And I also wanted to see the little Duke of York’s wedding.’
    Philip expressed surprise that this news had reached us in Bristol as long ago as Christmas. ‘But in that case,’ he continued, ‘you must also have heard that Clarence is about to be brought to trial. With one event following immediately after the other, it’s difficult not to speak of both in the same breath.’
    I acknowledged that we had heard, and for the next ten minutes or so he and I were engrossed in the inevitable speculation as to why King Edward had at last decided to take action against his troublesome brother – when he had forgiven him on so many