The Mistress And The Merchant. Juliet Landon

into the house, if you will. You are welcome to come, too, Father. You know the steward’s duties as well as I do. And have the ledgers brought in here. We need to see what’s been going on.’

      ‘Nay, mistress...please!’ Fletcher pleaded, rubbing his wrists. ‘You’ll not like what you see. Give me time...’

      Aphra turned away to the house. ‘I shall not like anything at all until I’ve seen them, shall I? At least I’m giving you the chance to explain yourself instead of running away from the problem. Come in here. Sit down. Have you eaten today?’

      ‘By the smell of him,’ Santo said, ‘he’s already helped himself to your wine. You’re surely not going to feed him, mistress?’ Protectively, he placed himself between her and the steward.

      ‘When he’s answered some of my questions, yes. A half-starved steward will be no good to me, will he? Is there not a Mistress Fletcher somewhere?’

      Fletcher passed a hand over his eyes, pulling his features downwards in one heavy sweep. He was not an unhandsome man, though he was unkempt and showing signs of strain brought on by some deep unhappiness. ‘No,’ he whispered, glancing at the priest. ‘Father Vickery knows...she...’ His voice broke as his features screwed up in pain.

      ‘Last year,’ said the priest, quietly. ‘Died in childbirth. She and the babe. Their first. Only been married two years. Buried here, in the churchyard.’

      ‘Yes, I see,’ Aphra said. ‘Accept my sympathies, Master Fletcher. I take it that’s when you forgot to keep the accounts, is it? Since then?’

      Fascinated, Santo watched as she took control of the situation, sending for porridge, bread, cheese and milk for the man who had just tried to make off with her belongings from the cottage after cheating his way through years of work poorly supervised by her predecessor, Dr Ben. No wonder the thought of an Italian lawyer on the premises had been the last straw. He thought what a remarkable woman she was, more concerned for the man’s genuine distress than for her own inconvenience. He watched the man begin to eat, his table manners perfectly acceptable, although the absence of a wife had clearly had an effect on his personal hygiene. Santo drew Aphra away to one side, leaving the priest and the steward to talk. ‘What do you intend?’ he said. ‘To keep him on? It’s a risk, you know. As your new Italian lawyer, I ought to advise you against it. He was taking your property.’

      ‘As my new Italian lawyer,’ she said with a sideways glare, ‘you lack compassion, signor. As a merchant, you could oblige me by justifying your decision to ignore my request to go away and by going through the accounts with him and Father Vickery. He knows what ought to be included in them, so between the three of you, you should be able to come up with some results. If he has nothing to look forward to, he has no reason to co-operate, does he? If we put him back...’

      ‘You’re going to give him another chance?’

      ‘Of course I am. It’s obviously the loss of his wife and child that’s caused the problem and, anyway, where am I going to get another steward who knows as much about the place as he does? They don’t come two-a-penny, you know.’

      The handsome face widened into a smile, making her heart flutter. ‘I like that. Two for a penny. That means, not easy to find. Yes?’

      ‘Yes. Unlike some Italian merchants who cannot take no for an answer.’

      The smile stayed. ‘I did not think you really meant it, mistress.’

      ‘I did really mean it,’ she growled, returning to the table. ‘But now you’re here, you may as well make yourself useful.’

      * * *

      So for the rest of that morning and well into the afternoon, Santo and Father Vickery sat with the steward with the ledgers spread out before them while they ate, drank good ale and tried to rectify the housekeeping mess. After seeing a similar kind of disorder in the steward’s cottage, Aphra got three women from the village to scrub the place out, to wash the stale bedlinen and clothes, and to replace them with some that had been used by Dr Ben’s students. The few items of furniture were polished and supplemented by others, the little cot removed, food placed in the kitchen, oil in the lamps, firewood in the hearth, and a widow found to housekeep and cook for him who needed just this kind of employment to put money into her purse. Aphra’s money.

      To his credit, Father Vickery offered to double-check the accounts with Fletcher before submitting them to Aphra each week, which they all understood to be both a help and a safeguard against any back-sliding. Unintentional the deceptions might have been, but Aphra could not afford to turn a blind eye to mismanagement, as Dr Ben had apparently been doing.

      * * *

      ‘I think,’ said Santo, sitting down to supper in Aphra’s comfortable parlour, ‘your uncle was more interested in his medicinal studies than in household management.’

      ‘And I,’ said Aphra, arranging her skirts as she sat opposite him, ‘failed to deal with that side of things as soon as I came to live here. Have we lost a lot?’

      He liked the sound of the ‘we’ in her question. ‘That’s difficult to tell now,’ he replied, ‘but the purchases and sales have not all been recorded properly so it’s quite likely that your uncle has been cheated over the year. That will have to stop. Perhaps it’s a good thing that word is getting round about your lawyer being here to keep an eye on things.’

      ‘That,’ said Aphra, primly, eyeing the dishes being placed on the table, ‘is something I must discuss with you. As you say, word is getting around, and that’s what I don’t want. That’s why you should go back to Italy, signor.’

      ‘But now you’ve changed your mind.’

      ‘I have not changed my mind. I would not want you to return to Reedacre Manor in the dark, but you cannot stay more than one night. You and your men can use the rooms across there.’ She pointed through the window to the stone-built dwelling across on the other side of the square garden. ‘It was once the visiting abbots’ house. Plenty of space on both floors. I’ve given a man the task of looking after your needs. And tomorrow, you must leave Sandrock and return to my parents’ house. Your help today is appreciated, but now I shall manage on my own.’

      ‘But you may recall,’ Santo said, ‘that Sir George and Lady Betterton have now left Reedacre Manor for London. When we said farewell this morning, they were of the opinion that my help here would be a good thing for you.’

      ‘They would. It’s a big place.’

      ‘And you really do not need a man’s help?’ he said, persuasively.

      ‘Not the help of a man like you.’

      ‘A man like me?’

      ‘The brother of the man who deceived me,’ she said. ‘Did you think I’d welcome you with open arms, signor? My memory is not so short as all that.’

      ‘I believe that’s what the English call “tarring everyone with the same brush”, isn’t it? I am not to be confused with my brother, mistress. He was guilty of a gross misjudgement. I am a merchant and I’ve learnt not to do that. Laws are there to be kept. If I were untrustworthy, no one would do business with me. My family’s good name would suffer, which is why my father insisted on Leon keeping his word.’

      ‘I’m glad he did so,’ Aphra said, daintily picking up a rabbit’s roasted foreleg and deciding which bit to nibble. ‘I would not want a husband who breaks promises so easily.’ She pushed a dish towards him. ‘This is sage and onion stuffing,’ she said. ‘It goes well with rabbit. I did not mean to tar you with the same brush as your brother, Signor Datini. I am sure you are honourable in all your dealings. But I made a decision to be alone here, after what’s happened, to give me time to reflect and to carry on some of the work my uncle began with his plants. I intend to supply London doctors with the raw material, as he did. They don’t all grow the plants they use in medicines, you know, nor do they buy them from just anyone. Only from growers they can trust.’

      ‘That’s