A Traitor's Tears Read Online Free Page B

my little daughter by Gerald in England, as I didn’t want her to grow up a Papist. I had married Matthew by Catholic rites and under a degree of duress, yet I was in love with him and he with me. But he was forever getting involved in plots against Elizabeth and there was never any real peace between us.
    When I was on a visit to England because Meg had need of me, I heard that Matthew had died, of plague. Some time after that, I married Hugh, my very dear Hugh, who was much older than I was, but as good and kind a companion as anyone could ask for. And then I learned that Matthew was not dead; that the queen and Cecil had lied to me, to keep me in England, and that he had been told the same lie about me. Elizabeth said that she had also annulled our marriage, on the grounds that the rite was unlawful and there had been duress. But in Catholic eyes, the marriage had been legal in its form and the duress questionable, since for a long time I had lived as Matthew’s wife, of my own free will.
    After Hugh’s death, I had had occasion to visit the Continent. I had met Matthew again and he had rescued me from a dangerous situation. For a short time, we came together and Harry was the result. I had hoped that in the eyes of my Catholic uncle and aunt, Harry would be legitimate, but they hadn’t taken that view at all and, between their virtuous condemnation of my morals and the merciless tongue of Jane Cobbold, my plan to face down gossip and rear my son without apology as Harry de la Roche was turning out very difficult. I had set myself a hard field to plough.
    â€˜You will win through,’ said Elizabeth, who knew all about the circumstances leading to Harry’s arrival. ‘You have a gift for that. And I have a gift for your little son. I promised a fine christening present for him – do you remember? I have kept my word. Come.’ She slid off the window seat and shook out her skirts. ‘My ladies helped in the making. They can all embroider skilfully. I have it here.’
    It was the object on the settle. Elizabeth drew back the drapery and revealed a child’s cot. It was made of exquisitely carved walnut, with a canopy that could be set up to protect its occupant from over-hot sunshine. The canopy was of blue silk with little animals and birds embroidered on it in gold. There were pillows with embroidered covers, sheets with edgings to match, a soft woollen blanket and a sealskin coverlet.
    â€˜It takes to pieces,’ Elizabeth said. ‘It will need a packhorse to itself, but John Ryder will go with you, and bring the packhorse back.’
    â€˜It’s a royal gift!’ I said.
    Before I left Whitehall, Elizabeth also presented me with a small purse of money, which I used before starting for home, by visiting a cloth warehouse and buying a roll of lightweight worsted. It was a new type of cloth which I had already found ideal for making summer-weight cloaks and everyday dresses. I talked to the merchant across a counter in a congested room where the walls were covered all the way up to the ceiling by shelves full of fabric rolls. The higher shelves were only accessible from ladders. He said I was lucky that he actually had some worsted available.
    â€˜It’s hard to get. I’ve had to bring some in from abroad. The Guild of Weavers that make the old heavy cloth have been creating a to-do and saying this new stuff is affecting their business, and they’ve somehow got a regulation made about how many worsted weaving looms can be allowed in the country. I know all about it because one of the Guild officials is my brother-in-law and often dines with me.’
    The merchant grinned. He was a small, bald man, with bright grey-green eyes in a wrinkled face. ‘Since he
is
a relative, in a way, I took the liberty of telling him not to be a noddy. If folk want this new kind of cloth, I said, they’ll clamour till they get it. Your weaving shed’s big enough