The Blacksmith's Wife. Elisabeth Hobbes
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harshness of his voice, Joanna stared at him. When they had met before he had seemed good-humoured, for all his mocking words, but his sudden fierceness was unnerving. His brow was knotted and his eyes dark. For a moment silence hung awkwardly between them as all three stood motionless saying nothing.
Side by side the brothers were not so alike after all. They were of equal height and stature and both had hair the colour of a crow’s wing but Sir Roger’s was swept back and tied neatly at his nape. He wore a short, neatly trimmed beard while his brother’s hair fell forward in careless tangles to a jaw rough with stubble.
The resemblance was strongest about the eyes: deep brown, flecked with green and ringed with long lashes set into faces tanned from a life spent outside, but the expressions in them were markedly different. Sir Roger gazed on Joanna with fondness but Henry appraised her with a dark humour, seemingly enjoying her discomposure.
‘I have to go. I am expected home,’ Joanna mumbled, reaching for her bag. She smiled at Sir Roger, hoping he would offer to escort her through the camp but he merely smiled stiffly and bade her farewell. Hiding her disappointment, Joanna held her hand out for him to kiss, nodded towards Henry and fled from the tent. She reached the gateway in a rush but stopped as she neared the guards.
One of them smirked at her, his eyes roving up and down her body.
‘Finished your delivery quickly, didn’t you? Is your load lighter now?’
‘I’ll bet someone’s is,’ the other sniggered, nudging his companion in the ribs.
Joanna’s eyes prickled with shame. She took a deep breath, determined to walk past with dignity.
‘If you don’t keep your mouths civil in the presence of women I’ll have a word in the right ear and you’ll be guarding the middens until the tournament ends!’
Joanna spun round to find Henry Danby striding towards her.
‘Mistress Sollers, allow me to escort you back to the city.’ He held out an arm for her. Surprised, she took it and let him lead her through the gateway.
‘If you are as virtuous as you claim to be you shouldn’t visit the camp again,’ he muttered as they passed by the guards. ‘Those oafs won’t be the only ones casting slights on you.’
‘What do you mean claim?’ Joanna pulled her arm free and rounded on him angrily. ‘My reputation is no concern of yours and I have done nothing to incite gossip.’ She flushed slightly as she thought of the kisses she had permitted Sir Roger to take that were far from fitting for an unmarried woman. ‘Sir Roger and I were doing nothing wrong,’ she said indignantly. She stopped short. If she had spoken in such a tone to Sir Roger he would have been angry or turned cold but Master Danby simply laughed.
‘What you and my brother do in private is none of my business, but I wasn’t referring to that. He leaned closer and murmured in her ear. ‘When we meet next you can buy me some wine.’
‘Why?’ Joanna asked in confusion.
‘Because I was right in guessing who you were searching for when you whispered so temptingly in my ear.’
Joanna snorted angrily. ‘Goodbye, Master Danby. I can make my own way back,’ she said. She turned and walked away, his soft laughter ringing in her ears.
By the time Joanna passed through the gate into the city her face was no longer red though she still shook with indignation whenever she thought of the guards’ words.
Visiting the camp had been a mistake and her indiscretions with Sir Roger had been the biggest error of all. His kisses had been more intense than ever before and the way he had touched her more than a little alarming. Such intimacies should wait for their wedding night. Little wonder Henry Danby had cast doubts on her virtue after he had found them together.
Horror flooded through Joanna and she stopped abruptly as his laughing face flashed before her eyes. What if he told Sir Roger of their earlier encounter? How would the knight view such behaviour? She could try finding Master Danby again and pleading for him to keep her secret, but she could not face the trial of talking her way past the guards again, or the scathing expression she was sure she would see in Master Danby’s eyes. Whatever happened she would have to deal with it.
She returned home and pushed the front door open cautiously. Even her short interlude had made her later than she would be expected. With luck Uncle Simon would still be at his foundry or the Guild Hall and she could slip in unnoticed. Two girls aged seven and four hurled themselves towards her, squealing with delight. Their older sister, ten and too dignified to show such affection, nodded from the corner and returned to her sewing.
Joanna hugged her cousins, answering the questions that tumbled from them. Yes, she had seen the jousting. Yes, Sir Roger won. No, she did not know which knight had triumphed in the mêlée.
‘Joanna, come in here!’
The laughter ceased at the sound of the gruff voice. Joanna walked through to the kitchen, her stomach fluttering.
‘You’re late.’ Simon Vernon folded his burly arms across his chest and frowned at his niece. ‘Where have you been? Watching the tournament while I work to feed you all?’
Joanna forced herself to look contrite.
‘I beg your pardon,’ she said. ‘I delivered the buckle to Sir Roger in person.’
Simon’s brows knotted. ‘You visited him unchaperoned! Do you care nothing for your reputation? Or mine?’
‘I do care.’ She pushed away the insinuations of the guards and Henry Danby’s similar warning. ‘Sir Roger sends his thanks for your gift.’
A thin smile cracked Simon’s stern face. ‘So, you pleased him?’
Joanna blushed, remembering his caresses. ‘I hope he will speak to you tonight.’
Simon pushed himself from his stool, towering above Joanna. ‘He had better. Even the most charitable uncle is not obliged to keep you forever. For three years I’ve waited for you to catch him as your husband. The hours I’ve spent entertaining him have cost me dearly but he still delays. I’m beginning to doubt his feelings for you are as strong as they first appeared to be.’
‘Sir Roger will marry me,’ Joanna insisted. Of course he must love her, to be so direct and forceful with his embraces.
‘I hope so,’ Simon growled. ‘You will be twenty-one before the summer is over. You should have been married long before this. I have enough mouths of my own to feed, with all the expense that entails.’
Joanna glanced around. Richly embroidered tapestries hung from every wall. Heavy oak chests stood either side of the door and half-a-dozen hams hung above the large fireplace. Simon Vernon was not approaching poverty by any means. In the nine years since the Great Pestilence had claimed her family, Joanna had worked hard to ensure Simon had not regretted taking in his sister’s only surviving child, however grudgingly the act of charity had been committed. She closed her eyes to prevent her uncle seeing the grief in them.
Simon came behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘If my family is connected to the nobility imagine the doors that will open for me,’ he said hungrily.
‘I had better go prepare for tonight,’ Joanna said frostily.
‘Mind your tongue,’ Simon growled. ‘Remember Sir Roger is used to obedient, well-brought-up ladies. You won’t catch a husband of any sort if you can’t keep your thoughts to yourself.’
Joanna climbed the stairs to the attic room she shared with the serving girl. She removed her grey dress and sponged herself down with cold water from the jug by the window. Clad in her shift, she shivered as the cold February air whipped around her bare flesh. She changed into a dress of red linen and began to lace the threads of her bodice. She