The Blacksmith's Wife. Elisabeth Hobbes
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have to change your mind,’ he said.
Roger spat out an oath. ‘Why would I do that?’
Hal fixed his brother with a stare. ‘Because her uncle wants me to take your place.’
Roger stumbled unsteadily to his feet and pointed an accusing finger at his brother. ‘This must be a jest. On your part or his?’
Hal scowled. His first instinct too had been to laugh at the suggestion until he had seen the earnest expression on Simon Vernon’s face.
‘Master Vernon was furious that Joanna had failed to win your hand. He all but offered me membership of the guild as a bribe for taking her,’ Hal said, his bile rising at the memory.
The Guild might think more favourably of a man with the responsibility for a wife and family, Master Vernon had said, which Hal translated as a man who rids me of my troublesome niece! The man had shown little regard for Joanna’s distress, thinking only of his own pocket. No wonder she had been reluctant to return home, knowing the reception that awaited her failure.
Roger gave a high-pitched guffaw. ‘This is rich fun. My honourable brother finds himself ensnared. The lady’s methods are more effective than I suspected!’
Joanna’s face flashed before Hal’s eyes once more, still clinging on to hopes of Roger, despite all signs to the contrary.
‘She had nothing to do with it. She was not present at the time and I imagine the idea will be as unwelcome to her as it is to me.’
‘Are you not tempted to accept the offer?’ Roger asked slyly.
‘No!’ Hal exclaimed. ‘When I enter the guild—and I will—I want to know it is because of my merit, not as a reward for ridding Simon Vernon of an inconvenience.’
Roger took another swig and let out a loud belch. ‘Stop being so high-minded. You failed to get membership of the guild today. This would ease your admittance and Master Vernon would be a more useful connection to you than he ever would to me.’
Hal swung himself to his feet, ignoring the seductive voice that whispered in his ear of the sense of this. He crossed to Roger’s cot and stared down at his brother. ‘You are fond of Joanna, you said so yourself. Why not marry her?’
‘Sadly, as you discovered, she is merely the niece of a guild member. He has a son now and she will inherit nothing. Her marriage portion will be small,’ Roger sneered.
Hal set his jaw. ‘I’ll ask for the last time: will you reconsider your intentions towards her?’
Roger took a maddeningly slow drink from the jug. Hal’s palm itched to slap it from his hand. Roger finally looked up.
‘No. Sir Robin De Monsort has a daughter who comes of age in the next month. I intend to make sure I am her choice and am leaving with him in the morning.’
‘Won’t you care at all to see Joanna given to another man?’
‘If she’d been richer I would have grieved more, but I care very little about it if I’m truly honest.’
Hal bunched his fists, his heart thudding with anger at the careless way his brother spoke. Roger swung himself unsteadily to his feet, wobbled and fell back on his cot.
‘This morning you wanted me to bid farewell to Joanna forever. Now you want me to marry her after all. This has nothing to do with her feelings and everything to do with your wanting to escape from the situation. Just marry her and be done with it. She deserves a husband who at least has a passing interest in her.’
‘And what makes you think I do?’ Hal asked in surprise.
‘The fact that you’re even trying to persuade me,’ Roger explained with the slow logic of the drunk. ‘If you cared nothing for her you wouldn’t worry who she married.’
Hal grimaced. He barely knew the girl, but his ire rose whenever he witnessed the dismissive way Joanna’s uncle or Roger spoke of her or to her. Joanna’s distress had touched him and he felt at least partly responsible for having caused the situation by insisting Roger make a decision. Blame lay at his feet, but surely not enough to require such a foolhardy step as penance?
‘She’s sweet-natured enough to keep you happy and has connections for you that no other woman does. If you won’t have her Simon Vernon will find someone who will. I’m sure she’d prefer you to a fifty-year-old with stale breath,’ Roger continued. He leered suggestively. ‘You and I are enough alike. Maybe you’ll please her in the night after all.’
Hal wrinkled his nose. ‘You disgust me sometimes. If we weren’t brothers I’d want nothing to do with you.’
‘But we are and the choice is not yours.’
Roger laughed to himself, gave another great belch, closed his eyes and began snoring. Hal ran his hands through his hair and gave an exasperated sigh. His eye fell on the wine jug still clasped in Roger’s hand. He tugged it free and poured the remains into a cup before lying back on his cot, racked with indecision.
* * *
The morning brought rain, and with it a resolution. Hal packed his belongings and dressed in silence, slipping the thick wool tunic over his shirt as he stifled the yawns that resulted from a long night lying awake. Still angry, he avoided eye contact with Roger who was equally engrossed in dressing, ordering his young page back and forth with clothing of fine linen and silks. Once there was nothing left to do the brothers faced each other, their angry words lay between them, a barrier as real as stone and mortar.
Hal unbent first, clasping his hand on to Roger’s shoulder. ‘I wish you good fortune in the tournaments. Bring honour on our name.’
‘Have you made your mind up about Joanna?’ Roger asked gruffly, ignoring Hal’s words.
Hal squared his shoulders, thinking he would rather stick his hand into his own furnace than reveal his intentions to Roger.
‘You showed no interest last night. Why now? Unless you have reconsidered?’
‘I haven’t.’ Roger said belligerently. ‘In fact, I only asked out of courtesy. Whether you marry her or not is no concern of mine.’ He clicked his fingers to the page, turned on his heel and sauntered out of the tent.
Hal hefted a bag across his shoulder, dragged his trunk to the waiting cart, then walked into the city.
* * *
Simon Vernon was not at home when he called. Sounds of family life drifted to Hal: children quarrelling, the clattering of cookware, a small dog yapping. Mistress Vernon peered at him through the partially closed door. Her gaze was suspicious rather than hostile and Hal wondered what Joanna had told her aunt of the previous night’s events. He craned his neck to try to catch a glimpse of Joanna, but she was nowhere in sight.
Mistress Vernon informed Hal that her husband was most likely at his foundry. Hal retraced his steps to the Guild Hall along the alleys Joanna had taken him through the previous night. He suppressed a smile as he remembered her wide eyes full of innocence as she had led him in circles throughout the streets.
Even without instruction he could not have missed his destination. St Andrewgate was home to all York’s metalworkers. The narrow street was lined on both sides with open-fronted workshops making and selling all manner of wares and the heat from the furnaces and heady stench of smoke meeting the drizzle greeted Hal like an old friend.
Master Vernon’s foundry was located in an excellent position on the corner with two sides open to the street. Hal paused outside, aware of a clamminess creeping around his back. It was not too late; he could turn and walk away and no one would know. Except for him. He contemplated Simon Vernon’s establishment, larger and grander by far than his own forge in Ravenscrag. One day he would be master of such a place and today, for all his reservations, he was setting his foot most decisively on that path.
Simon Vernon was standing with his back to Hal, barking orders at a pair of young apprentices.