he had wanted to settle the business without laying a complaint before the King. His mind went back to a recent conversation with his mother, her words still echoing in his mind despite his efforts to shut them out.
‘Listen to me when I tell you that we were robbed of our inheritance!’ Lady Gifford’s voice had been shrill, harsh with bitterness. ‘Robert of Melford took Gifford by force and we were driven from our home. The King must listen to you, Andrew. He must make reparation.’
Andrew Gifford had looked at his mother with barely concealed impatience. ‘Have I not told you a hundred times, Mother? My father betrayed his promise to give himself up to the King and it was his betrayal that led to his death. Our estate was forfeit and the King gave it to Lord Melford. He had the right to sell it as he pleased.’
‘So you say,’ Lady Gifford retorted, her eyes cold with hatred. ‘Why will you not make a plea to his Majesty? It is the custom to grant boons at times of celebration. They say the King’s eldest son is to marry later this year to the Princess of Aragon…you should use the opportunity to ask for some compensation for our loss.’
‘May I remind you that the loss was mine,’ Andrew said and for a moment his blue eyes had been as cold as ice. He had seen Harold of Meresham enter the room and it angered him that his mother kept the man here when she knew her son disliked him intensely. He would never understand why she had taken him in when he came to her as a fugitive, having escaped from custody by a fluke of the law, then married him, though insisting on keeping her former husband’s name. ‘Father’s lands should have passed to me. I have made my own way in the world and I am not poor. The King saw fit to bestow monies on me for services rendered, which I have put to good use.’
‘You have a small estate,’ his mother sneered, though it was in truth larger than her own. ‘But Robert of Melford is rich beyond compare. You should demand what belongs to you!’
‘Enough!’ Andrew’s face tightened with anger. ‘I have heard sufficient of your complaining, Mother. You never cease your demands and yet you do nothing I ask of you.’
‘Why should I send Harold away?’ his mother cried, furious in her turn. ‘He is my husband.’
‘I know well that you married him, but he does not behave as a husband to you,’ Andrew said, looking scornfully at the man. ‘If he showed you respect, I would understand, but he does not.’ He turned away, his back stiff.
‘Where are you going?’ Lady Gifford cried, a harsh note in her voice. ‘I demand that you listen to me!’
Andrew swung round to face her, his eyes glinting. ‘I am no longer a child, madam. You may not command me. I may speak to the King, but if he does not care to listen I shall make no demands of him. Too many years have passed. I am content to win favours and riches for myself—and I should advise you to forget what has gone.’
Striding from the room, Andrew had wondered why he bothered to visit his mother and her husband. He had hated Harold of Meresham from the day his mother had wed him when he was but a lad of seven years, and he knew the two of them had plotted revenge on Lord Melford. Lady Gifford had sent endless petitions to King Henry VII asking that her husband’s estate be returned to her or reparation made, and the King wearied of it. Had Andrew not won favour in Henry’s eyes, the King might have made an example of her before this—but she would not be told.
However, a month past Harold had been lain low of a fever and died suddenly. Returning for the funeral, Andrew had found his mother chastened and silent. He knew that Harold had played a large part in her bitterness, and his hope was that she would now cease her endless demands for recompense. It was, after all, he who had suffered the worst loss, for although he was still entitled to call himself the Earl of Gifford the lands and property that should have been his belonged to another. It was a cause for anger and yet he was not bitter despite all the years of hearing his mother’s complaints.
He had his own estate and his wealth was invested wisely. Perhaps he was not yet as rich as his father had once been, but he was determined that he would make his own way in life—and when he was ready he would take a bride. He had made up his mind then that he would seek Lord Melford out and try to heal the breach that had begun so many years ago.
Andrew’s mind came back to the present and the expression in his eyes was angry once more. He had come here in good faith, hoping to speak to Lord Melford and tell him that Harold was dead, as he had been some kind of relation to Melford’s wife. It was a time for reconciliation, a time to heal old quarrels, but his reception had been cool, barely courteous, and that had made him angry. He had been about to return to London and the court when he caught sight of the fair. The wrestling match had restored his temper and he realised that it would be foolish to leave without accomplishing what he had come for—besides, there might be other diversions to keep him here a while.
He looked around the meadow, hoping to catch sight of the pretty girl once more, but there was no sign of her. That was a shame, but perhaps if he lingered at the inn for a few days he might catch sight of her in the village—and he would return to the Melfords’ house the next day to make another effort at settling the foolish quarrel that had festered on so many years.
‘Catherine, my love,’ Lady Melford said the following morning, ‘I wish you to walk to the village for me with this basket of food and medicines for Widow Hale. Her son told me that she has been poorly for a while, and I believe these restoratives may help her.’
‘Of course I will, Mother,’ Catherine replied with a smile. ‘I am sorry that she has been ill. Is Anne to accompany me?’
‘Your sister has other duties,’ Lady Melford told her. ‘And none of the servants can be spared from their work. You need not linger on the way, and I doubt you will meet many strangers, for the fair folk will be busy packing their wares to move on.’
‘I am not nervous of walking to the village,’ Catherine replied. She had asked only because she knew Anne would relish an hour of freedom away from the house. Her sister was a rebellious girl and avoided her chores if she could. ‘I shall go straight there and back. Besides, none would harm me, for Father is loved and respected by his people.’
‘Yes, he is,’ her mother agreed. ‘Go then, dearest. When you return we shall begin work on your new gown, as your father talks of taking us to London if the marriage of the King’s son takes place as is hoped.’
‘Go to London for Prince Arthur’s wedding?’ Catherine’s face lit up with excitement. ‘Are we all to go, Mother?’
‘Yes, all of us,’ Lady Melford replied, smiling fondly at her daughter. ‘You deserve the treat, Catherine. Besides, the King has sent word that he wishes to see your father at court before the end of the year, and so we must go to the wedding.’
‘It will be so exciting. Does my sister know?’
‘Not yet, but she will soon—I shall tell her after you have gone. Get off now, Catherine, for there is much to do. We must make preparations for winter and all the soft fruits have not yet been preserved.’
Lady Melford bustled off to begin work in her stillroom. She was mistress of a large household and her work was never done, despite all the servants at her disposal.
Catherine was smiling as she put on her cloak and left the house. It was not as sunny as the previous day, for dark clouds had gathered overhead, but it was not cold. Just a pleasant day for a walk to the village and back.
Andrew
