clearly also been afforded his sisters. They were very like him, blue-eyed, open-faced and handsome rather than pretty, dressed plainly in brown woollen kirtles and practical unbleached linen aprons, their hair hidden under neat white coifs.
‘I hope you have not eaten all the supper,’ their brother said, pulling them aside to allow me to mount the inner stair to the first floor. ‘Madame Lanière and I are very hungry. We have been riding all day.’
‘We have not started,’ Anne revealed. ‘Father is here. He came back from the Temple only an hour ago.’
So far there had been no mention of the aunt, but when we entered the hall at the top of the stairs a lady was waiting at the hearth who was obviously she. Walter introduced her as Mistress Elizabeth Cope. My first impression was of a strict disciplinarian; a wimpled lady with a thin face and dark features, unrelieved by the grey and black of her widow’s weeds. She greeted me civilly but without warmth, and I felt instantly that there was no joy in her. However she made no comment about me being an unexpected guest and an extra place was soon being laid at a table set before a good fire, which gave me hope of a clean and comfortable bed later.
‘We have very few visitors, Madame Lanière, so I hope you will not find our hospitality wanting,’ Mistress Cope remarked in her surprisingly deep voice. ‘Try as we might, our standards are hardly likely to measure up to those of the royal household.’
‘I have sometimes found the greatest of palaces draughty and cold, Madame,’ I replied in hesitant English. ‘Courts are not always lodged comfortably.’
She did not respond to that, hardly seeming to have heard because a door opened in the inner wall of the hall to admit a well-set man in a fur-trimmed black gown and a lawyer’s coif that hardly seemed able to contain his thatch of springy silver-threaded brown hair. The atmosphere of stiff formality instantly lifted. Master Geoffrey Vintner was about as similar to his sister as wine is to vinegar. Where she was narrow, he was broad, where her brow was furrowed, his was smile-lined and where she looked coldly down her nose, his good-natured expression burst through a full set of dark, gingery whiskers. If I had nursed a stereotyped image of a stern, pompous lawyer, it was instantly expunged by the presence of this pleasant, warm-spirited man.
When Walter introduced me, his reaction was genuinely cordial. ‘It is a privilege to welcome you to our house, Madame,’ he declared in perfect French. ‘I am honoured to have a member of the queen’s household under my roof.’
I returned his smile and his bow in equal measure, surprised to find myself wishing that I had been able to remove the dirt and dishevelment of the road before meeting him. He must have read my mind for he immediately called for warm water and ushered me to a place at the table nearest to the fire. ‘Come, Madame, let me take your cloak. Sit down and my maid will bring the bowl and towel for you to wash your hands. Walter, you should have offered Madame Lanière these comforts as soon as she crossed the threshold. Where are your manners, boy?’
I saw Walter’s cheeks flush with embarrassment and felt bound to spring to his defence. ‘Truly sir, there has not been time and Walter has been the most attentive escort all day. He does not deserve a word of criticism.’
Meanwhile, Mistress Cope and the two girls arranged themselves around the table and a maid in a bleached apron and coif brought the hand basin, offering it to me carefully so that it did not spill. As I made use of the water and towel, Walter gave his father details of our journey while the two girls tried not to stare at me as they absorbed every detail of my appearance.
‘I believe you have come to London on the queen’s business, Madame?’ enquired Master Vintner, regarding me as intently as his daughters. ‘Are you at liberty to reveal what that business is? Perhaps I can be of assistance to you.’
I smiled. ‘That is a kind offer, sir, but I think it unlikely that a professional man like yourself would have much business with craftsmen skilled in ladies apparel. Queen Catherine has sent me to visit certain recommended tailors and merciers – I think you call them haberdashers? – in order to refresh and replenish her wardrobe. Walter has promised to guide me to the quarters in the city where these are to be found.’
The lawyer looked surprised. ‘Really? You amaze me. I had no inkling that my son was familiar with the haunts of fashionable ladies. Walter, were you neglecting your studies all that time I was paying for your education at the Inns of Court?’
Once again poor Walter went bright pink. ‘No indeed, Father, but I do know the way to Threadneedle Street. When I last looked, that was the location of the Tailors’ Hall, where I believe all masters of that craft in London are registered.’
‘Ah yes, I see,’ nodded his father. ‘So you will take Madame Lanière there tomorrow.’
‘And may I ask how long you intend staying in the city?’ Mistress Cope’s enquiry was couched in such a way as to indicate that she hoped it would not be too many days, an inference that was not lost on her brother.
‘Elizabeth, Madame Lanière is welcome to stay as long as the queen’s business keeps her here,’ Master Vintner said firmly. ‘And tomorrow I think you might acquire a good haunch of beef to roast for our dinner and I will ensure that there is some fine Bordeaux wine to go with it.’ He cast a disapproving glance at the dish of cold mutton pie which the serving woman had placed on the table alongside a loaf of day-old maslin bread and a hunk of hard cheese. ‘Is there none of that onion tart left to go with this pie?’ he asked. ‘There was plenty left last night as I recall.’ He leaned in my direction to ask confidingly, ‘I expect you like a good slice of onion tart as much as I do, Madame?’
‘Perhaps not quite as much,’ I responded with a smile. ‘But I do care for a slice of roasted beef.’
‘The onion tart was eaten for our midday meal, brother,’ Mistress Cope interjected.
‘I did not have any,’ Mildy piped up, speaking for the first time.
I cast a swift glance at Mistress Cope and saw her pale cheeks colour slightly. It occurred to me that the remains of the onion tart had been hers and hers alone, but she did not look plump enough to be hoarding food for her own consumption.
‘You do not like onion tart, Mildred!’ the dame told her niece acidly. ‘And young ladies should hold their tongues at table unless invited to speak.’
‘I would like to ask you girls where you learned such excellent French,’ I intervened, changing the subject.
‘Our mother taught us,’ answered Anne proudly. ‘And she taught us to read as well.’
‘And Latin, have you learned any Latin?’
‘No. Our father speaks Latin but he says it is not necessary for females.’ Anne looked a little crestfallen, as if she would have been keen to study the language that opened the door to so much learning. ‘Do you know it, Madame?’
I shook my head. ‘No, and I am only just learning English so you are well ahead of me, being fluent two languages already. In France not many women even learn to read.’
‘That is the case here in England as well,’ said Master Vintner. ‘My wife was an exception and wished her daughters to be educated to a certain degree. My sister does not read, do you, Elizabeth?’
Mistress Cope sniffed. ‘I have never felt the need,’ she said stonily. ‘Running a household requires other skills.’
I cut a piece of mutton pie with
