Mistress to the Crown. Isolde Martyn

succeed.’

      ‘I am sure it will,’ he replied courteously. ‘I am well acquainted with Master Shaa. He must think very highly of you.’

      I blushed, honestly delighted by his remark. I so longed to ask him who he was but courtesy bridled my tongue.

      By now we had reduced his choice to three. He was taking his time in reaching a decision.

      ‘Forgive my impertinence, mistress,’ he said, observing the tiny wisps of blonde hair that had escaped from my cap. ‘Your hair and colouring are similar to my stepdaughter’s and she often wears that same blue there.’ He half-crossed himself, his third finger drawing a line from his heart. I glanced down at the bright blue modesty inset within my collar, and grew hot within my gown. He took up one of the belts and held it out to me. ‘If you please, it would help me if you could hold each of these in turn.’

      So I obeyed, lifting each pretty girdle to gleam against the square of bluebell velvet that crossed my cleavage.

      Thinking much about this encounter later, I realised it gave him plentiful opportunity to stare at my bosom, and yet at the time it did not strike me as sinful. If he was interested in more than the ornate belts, he was subtle.

      ‘That one!’ he declared finally. It was expensive – honey silk shot with gold, lined with taffeta and embroidered with tiny scallop shells, each with a pearl nestling in its heart. A row of little tinkling shells weighted the ends, promising that it would hang gracefully. A lively girl would find it delightfully frivolous.

      ‘A good choice. I think your stepdaughter will be very pleased,’ I answered honestly as I fetched out a shiny drawstring bag to match his purchase. He watched me wind the belt into a coil and nestle it safe in a little nest of rabbit fur before I slid it inside. ‘Actually, my lord, Lambard’s shop in Silver Street has some Toulouse silk shipped in only this week that may please your stepdaughter if her marriage chest is not yet full. A bright blue embroidered with white milles fleurs. Toulouse dyes are fast and the quality is excellent.’

      ‘Lambard’s, you say?’ There was flicker of amusement.

      ‘Yes, my lord.’ I did not tell him John Lambard was my father. ‘And if you do visit, pray say you came from here.’

      ‘Thank you.’ He looked genuinely grateful, but then he teased me. ‘Now before you recommend some other delightful ways of emptying my purse, we must negotiate for this.’

      Curse it, I’d forgotten to bargain. ‘Oh,’ I exclaimed, touching my left-hand fingertips to my lips in innocent confusion. The girdle had only been finished last night and I had not put a price on it. Yes, that sounds as though I was poor at selling, but in truth this man had me dazed, so delicious was his company. As if he sensed my dilemma, my handsome customer came to my rescue.

      ‘I see you stock murrey broadcloth here. My steward can visit tomorrow to bargain with your master.’ His words caught me on the raw.

      ‘There is no master.’ I flared swiftly with a lift of chin and then thought myself an utter fool for behaving so. ‘Your pardon, my lord, my husband owns this shop but the girdles are my enterprise. You may have the belt for six shillings.’

      He took the coins from his leather pouch. ‘And you are Mistress …?’

      ‘Shore, my lord.’

      ‘Then I give you good morrow, Mistress Shore.’

      I knew my duty and hastened to open the door for him. Outside, huddled beneath the lintel, were two men in livery. They arranged their lord’s cloak about him and stepped back. His groom straight away led up a fine chestnut stallion, but my noble customer was in no hurry. He stared out into the rain pensively and then turned his head to me.

      ‘I think perhaps I should discuss the livery cloth myself, Mistress Shore. What time may I come to speak with your husband?’

      ‘My lord,’ I gasped. ‘I pray you tell me which hour is convenient to you and he will oblige.’

      ‘Shall we say one o’clock tomorrow, then?’

      ‘So please you.’ I curtsied, my hand in deference across my heart. ‘And pray you, my lord, may I tell my husband your name?’

      ‘Hastings.’

      My jaw slackened. The King’s Chamberlain, Lord Lieutenant of Calais and Master of the Royal Mint! I could not answer for shock, but I managed to make a deeper obeisance. After he had stepped forth, I closed the door, gave a squeal of delight, grabbed up my skirts and, humming, spun around our showing room as though I had found the crock of gold at the foot of the rainbow.

       Tomorrow shall be my dancing day;

       I would my true love did so chance

      To see the legend of my play,

      To call my true love to my dance.

      ‘Ahem.’

      Jesu save me! He stood within the shop again. What was worse, he had glimpsed me prancing like a merry five-year-old. My face must have looked mighty sheepish because he burst out laughing.

      ‘I-I like d-dancing,’ I explained, smoothing my skirts.

      ‘And does Master Shore dance with you?’

      I shook my head.

      He looked downwards, smoothing the fingers of his right hand glove to make a better fit; even that was done with a languid grace. ‘Pardon my curiosity, but is it that Master Shore will not or cannot dance?’ He raised his gaze slowly. There was nothing improper in his expression and yet …

      ‘My husband cannot, my lord.’

      ‘That’s a pity. But I forget my purpose. I have other business to transact after noon tomorrow so tell your husband I shall come at ten o’ the clock. It was pleasant talking to you, Mistress Shore.’

      O Heaven! I should not sleep that night. Lord Hastings’ presence lingered with me like a fragrance upon my wrist. Every phrase he had spoken I lifted gently from my memory and examined over and over again with a collector’s care.

      I was humming to myself when Shore returned to the shop an hour later. Even he could sense that something had changed. I must have looked more alive.

      ‘I have good news for you,’ I said triumphantly. ‘You missed an important customer, no less than the King’s Chamberlain.’

      ‘Lord Hastings?’ Shore nearly had an apoplexy on the spot. Disappointment to have missed the noble lord shone from every pore.

      ‘Ah trust Howe treated him well?’ His Derbyshire dialect was always stronger when he was upset.

      ‘No, I served him,’ I replied proudly. ‘He purchased a lady’s belt and he is returning to see you at ten tomorrow to bargain over the broadcl—’

      ‘You?’ He cut in with such disgust that I recoiled. ‘By the Saints! You fool of a woman, why did you not summon Howe?’

      Howe was our oldest apprentice but I was just as capable.

      ‘Because he was gone to Blackfriars to negotiate the dagswain order, remember? What was I supposed to do, sirrah? Close the door in Lord Hastings’s face?’

      ‘No need for that kind of tongue,’ Shore admonished. ‘It’s just that ah’ve a large order from Lord Rivers’ steward an’ if word gets around that ah’m dealing with Lord Hastings as well, they may cancel it. Happened to one of the Drapers’ Guild.’

      ‘I wish you had told me,’ I said wearily. Not that it would have made any difference.

      ‘Lord Rivers, the Queen’s brother, and Lord Hastings have fallen out over who should be governing Calais, see, and if you look to be dealing wi’ one of them, the other will ha’ none of you.’

      ‘That’s ludicrous,’ I declared.