The King's Concubine. Anne O'Brien

you. If you would now fetch me ale. And tell the Signora that I will be going out in an hour.’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      ‘And it will please me if you will call me Janyn.’

      ‘Yes, sir,’ I replied, though I could not imagine doing so.

      I stood in the whitewashed passage outside the door and leaned back against the wall as if my legs needed the support. The purse was not a light one. It moved in my fingers, coins sliding with a comforting chink as I weighed it in my hand. I had never seen so much money all in one place in the whole of my life. And it was mine. Whatever I was or was not, I was no longer a penniless novice.

      But what was I? It seemed I was neither flesh nor fowl. Here I stood in a house that was not mine, a wife but a virgin, with the knowledge that my marriage vows would make absolutely no difference to my role in the household. I would wager the whole of my sudden windfall on it. Signora Damiata would never retreat before my authority. I would never sit at the foot of the table.

      A scuff of leather against stone made me look up.

      I was not the only one occupying the narrow space. Detaching himself from a similar stance, further along in the shadows, Master Greseley walked softly towards me. Since there was an air of secrecy about him—of complicity almost—I hid the pouch in the folds of my skirt. Within an arm’s length of me he stopped, and leaned his narrow shoulder blades on the wall beside me, arms folded across his chest, staring at the opposite plasterwork in a manner that was not companionable but neither was it hostile. Here was a man adept through long practice at masking his intentions. As for his thoughts—they were buried so deep beneath his impassivity that it would take an earthquake to dislodge them.

      ‘You weren’t going to hide it under your pillow, were you?’ he enquired in a low voice.

      ‘Hide what?’ I replied, clutching the purse tightly.

      ‘The morning gift he’s just given you.’

      ‘How do you—?’

      ‘Of course I know. Who keeps the books in this household? It was no clever guesswork.’ A sharp glance slid in my direction before fixing on the wall again. ‘I would hazard that the sum was payment for something that was never bought.’

      Annoyance sharpened my tongue. I would not be intimidated by a clerk. ‘That is entirely between Master Perrers and myself.’

      ‘Of course it is.’ How smoothly unpleasant he was, like mutton fat floating on water after the roasting pans had been scoured.

      ‘And nothing to do with you.’

      He bowed his head. ‘Absolutely nothing. I am here only to give you some good advice.’

      Turning my head I looked directly at him. ‘Why?’

      He did not return my regard. ‘I have no idea.’

      ‘That makes no sense.’

      ‘No. It doesn’t. It’s against all my tenets of business practice. But even so. Let’s just say that I am drawn to advise you. Don’t hide the money under your pillow or anywhere else in this house. She’ll find it.’

      ‘Who?’ Although I knew the answer well enough.

      ‘The Signora. She has a nose for it, as keen as any mouse finding the cheese safe stored in a cupboard. And when she sniffs it out, you’ll not see it again.’

      I thought about this as well. ‘I thought she didn’t know.’

      ‘Is that what Janyn told you? Of course she does. Nothing happens in this place without her knowledge. She knows you have money, and she doesn’t agree with it. Any profits are the inheritance of her nephew, Janyn’s son.’

      The absent heir, learning the business in Lombardy. ‘Since you’re keen to offer advice, what do I do?’ I asked crossly. ‘Short of digging a hole in the garden?’

      ‘Which she’d find.’

      ‘A cranny in the eaves?’

      ‘She’d find that too.’

      ‘So?’ His smugness irritated me.

      ‘Give it to me.’

      Which promptly dispersed my irritation. I laughed, disbelieving. ‘Do you take me for a fool?’

      ‘I take you for a sensible woman. Give it to me.’ He actually held out his hand, palm up. His fingers were blotched with ink.

      ‘I will not.’

      He sighed as if his patience was strained. ‘Give it to me and I’ll use it to make you a rich woman.’

      ‘Why would you?’

      ‘Listen to me, Mistress Alice!’ I was right about the patience. His voice fell to a low hiss on the syllables of my name. ‘What keeps its value and lasts for ever?’

      ‘Gold.’

      ‘No. Gold can be stolen—and then you have nothing.’

      ‘Jewels, then.’

      ‘Same argument. Think about it.’

      ‘Then since you are so clever …’

      ‘Land!’ The clerk’s beady eyes gleamed. ‘Property. That’s the way to do it. It’s a generous purse he gave you. Give it to me and I will buy you property.’

      For a moment I listened to him, seduced by the glitter in his gaze that was now holding mine. His nose almost twitched with the prospect. And then sense took hold. ‘But I cannot look after property! What would I do with it?’

      ‘You don’t have to look after it. There are ways and means. Give me your morning gift and I will show you how it’s done.’

      It deserved some consideration. ‘What would you ask in return?’ I asked sharply.

      ‘Clever girl! I knew you had the makings of a business woman. I’ll let you know. But it will not be too great a price.’

      I looked at him. What a cold fish he was. ‘Why are you doing this?’

      ‘I think you have possibilities.’

      ‘As a landowner?’ It all seemed nonsense to me.

      ‘Why not?’

      I didn’t have a reply. I stood in silence, the coins in my hand seemingly growing heavier as I slowly breathed, in and out. I tossed the little bag, and caught it.

      ‘We don’t have all day.’ Greseley’s admonition broke into my thoughts. ‘That’s my offer. Take it or leave it. But if you think to keep it safe within these walls, it will be gone before the end of the week.’

      ‘And I should trust you.’

      Trust had not figured highly in my life. This strange man with his love for figures and documents, seals and agreements, who had sought me out and made me this most tempting of offers—should I hand over to him all I owned in the world? It was a risk. A huge risk. The arguments, conflicting, destructive of each other, rattled back and forth in my brain.

      Say no. Keep it for yourself. Hide it where no one can find it.

      Take the risk! Become a landowner.

      He’ll take it and keep it for himself.

      Trust him.

       I can’t!

       Why not?

      My exchange of views came to an abrupt halt when the clerk pushed himself upright and began to walk away. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

      And there was the final blast of the voice in my head. You can’t do this on your own, Alice, but Greseley can. This clever little louse has the