Mistress to the Crown. Isolde Martyn

removed the pins, one by one, and let my blonde plait fall. There was something deliciously sinful in him asking this of me. A married woman’s hair is for her husband or her lover.

      ‘Unbraided!’ commanded Lord Hastings, his gaze touching my hair and coming to linger on my lips. In obedience, I brought my plait forward over my right shoulder and slowly loosened the braid and with a toss of my head sent the strands swirling across my shoulders like an unfurled cloak.

      ‘You have beautiful hair, Mistress Shore.’ So had he. I could have clawed through his and drawn his face to mine. I had never experienced the power of kisses, but this lord would know the craft of lips, the delicate thrusting, the petite mesure parfaite.

      My father, fussing which brocade to proffer first, had missed the dance of stares, but he knew what to advise. The choosing was swift and decisive, and leaving my father to bargain with Hyrst, his steward, Lord Hastings led me up to the dais.

      ‘Tell me what you think of these.’

      ‘Are they for a tapestry, my lord?’ I asked, picking up the nearest paper – a charcoal sketch of a helmed man wearing a mask, breastplate, leather skirt, greaves and sandals.

      ‘No, it’s an entertainment for the court. The Siege of Troy. Lord Rivers’ notion. Unfortunately I doubt I’ll have time to put it on this year. Here’s the Lady Helen.’

      The drawing showed a creature in a long, yellow wig and voluminous white gown. Metal cones armoured her massive breasts and steel tassets protected her broad thighs. She looked like a fishwife playing Joan of Arc.

      ‘Why are you smiling, Mistress Shore?’

      ‘Your pardon, my lord, but unless your desire to is to make people laugh, I cannot imagine anyone stealing this lady from her husband. Why, Prince Paris would need a derrick to get her on board his ship. Oh, but I suppose she is to be played by a man.’

      He took the cartoon from me. ‘Do you believe any of this tale is true?’

      ‘That a princess could leave her husband for a handsome Trojan? I am sure that has been happening since time began. However, I do not suppose the war lasted ten years. That is probably the storyteller’s exaggeration. Or if it did, I expect the Greeks went home at Christmas and Easter.’

      ‘They were heathens, Mistress Shore.’

      I shrugged. ‘Ah, well, perhaps they had orgies to attend.’

      I was flattered by his company. There must be weighty matters on this great man’s mind and yet he was making every effort to be pleasant.

      ‘My lord, is it true we shall be soon be at war with the French?’

      ‘Yes, Mistress Shore.’

      ‘That is not good news for the city. Is it to punish the King of France?’

      King Louis had funded a mighty rebellion a few years earlier. He had brokered an alliance between King Edward’s cousin, Warwick, the King’s younger brother, George, and the exiled former queen, Margaret of Anjou. The result was an invasion that drove King Edward and Lord Hastings out of England for the winter, but they returned in the spring and after two bloody battles at Barnet and Tewkesbury, King Edward slid back onto the cushions on his throne at Westminster and clapped on his crown again.

      ‘To punish the King of France?’ replied Lord Hastings, humouring me. ‘Yes, Mistress Shore, it could be seen that way but there are better reasons. You do not approve of the King’s enterprise?’

      ‘I know that King Louis has invaded Brittany and would like to conquer Burgundy, my lord. I understand also that England has treaty obligations with Burgundy, but I wish the realm might have continual peace so our trade may prosper. War means higher taxes and good men risking their lives. Hasn’t there been enough killing in the quarrel between the Houses of York and Lancaster? No, I do not uphold a war with France.’

      He seemed amused by my outspokenness. ‘I shall inform his grace the King of your opinion, little mistress.’

      ‘I pray you do not, my lord,’ I said genially, for I knew he was teasing me, but inside I was bristling for I dislike being belittled. ‘As for taxes, a man may milk a cow, for sure, but there comes a time if there is insufficient grass when—’

      His gasp of laughter interrupted me. ‘Mistress Shore! And there was I believing you only get milk if you pump a cow’s tail, but now you tell me it’s a matter of grass.’

      For an instant I thought to clamp my lips closed and wallow in mortification but instead the she-devil in me brazenly retorted, ‘My lord, you may believe what you will. Perhaps in Leicestershire there are a lot of cows with aching tails!’

      Hastings drew a breath at my audacity, for he was from those parts, then laughed heartily, slamming his hand upon the table. It was fortunate that his steward’s polite cough ended the conversation for although you can push the boat out far when you are younger and female, it is best not to get into unfamiliar waters.

      Lord Hastings’ hand between my shoulder blades was extremely agreeable as he escorted me back to Father. ‘Your daughter has a sharp wit, Master Lambard.’

      ‘Oh, please do not tell him that, my lord, or he will start noticing.’

      Father pushed an armful of samples at me with a glare to hold my tongue.

      As we walked back to Silver Street, he said, ‘That man will seek to have you, Elizabeth.’

      When I made no answer, he added, ‘You’ll not encourage him. I’ll not have any daughter of mine causing a scandal. The Guild won’t like it.’

      ‘I do not think you have any right to preach to me, sir.’ I watched his handsome profile redden.

      ‘Damn it, I suppose you’ll never forget I made a fool of myself.’

      We walked on in silence, both of us remembering how he had stupidly leased a house in Wood Street for his mistress and then when he had finished with her, she had moved out taking everything that could be lifted, unscrewed or levered off. Because the dwelling was rented from the Goldsmiths’ Guild and Father did not have the coin in hand to pay for the woman’s thievery, his reputation would have been ruined. Fortunately Alderman Shaa forewarned me and provided a list of all that was owed. It took all my savings to pay my father’s debts.

      ‘I helped you then with what little money I had, Father,’ I exclaimed, hastening to keep up with his angry stride. ‘But now all your cargoes have been safely delivered, you might consider helping me.’

      He halted. ‘To grease some slimy lawyer’s palm, Elizabeth, so he’ll write to His Holiness in Rome on your behalf? Jesu! If divorce was easy, princes would change their wives like they change their cotes. Besides, you and Shore have managed all these years.’

      ‘Managed!’ I echoed indignantly, tempted to toss Father’s precious samples in the nearest sewer. ‘Shore’s been impotent since he had that quarrel with the cooper’s cart, and before that was not much better.’

      I knew what I was missing. I had discovered how to pleasure myself.

      ‘I concede that Shore is not of the right temperament for you, Elizabeth,’ Father was saying, ‘but as I’ve told you many times before, he’s no sluggard and the Mercer’s Guild thinks highly of him. Why, I’ll wager he could become an alderman like me in a few years’ time. Just be patient.’

      ‘Patient for what? I did not want this marriage when I was twelve and now I am twenty-five and childless, I am even more resolved to end it.’

      Several passers-by were eyeing us now and Father rapidly dredged up his pat-on-the-head-and-she-will-calm expression that he used with Mama when she was angry.

      ‘Sweetheart,’ he cajoled, putting his free arm about my shoulder to urge me forward, ‘taking a husband to law is not how a decent woman behaves. Marriage is for life. It is God’s will.’

      ‘God, sir, was