The Mistress And The Merchant

‘Your baggage, signor?’

‘Is with your parents at Reedacre. Should I go and collect it, and tell them of our arrangement?’

Taking her face between her hands, she closed her eyes, whispering to herself, ‘What am I doing? What on earth am I doing?’

With one lithe movement of his body, Santo came to her, standing close. ‘It’s time to move on,’ he said. ‘Share the burden with me. That’s why I was sent.’

She nodded, eyes still closed, sighing again as questions filtered through her mind.

That is not why you were sent. Not all the way from Venice for my sake. I’ll not believe the Datinis care so much. So what is it you came for?

‘I’ll find you some rooms,’ she said, turning away, feeling the warmth of his body follow her.

Share the burden with me, he had said. It was what her father had offered, too, when she had moved into Ben’s old home, but she had assured him of her ability to manage, having had years of experience helping at home while he was in London. Had she shown any signs of being unsure, she knew he would have insisted on having his own managers here each day, an imposition she was anxious to avoid when her only desire was to be alone with her wounds, healing them in her own time. Spending so much of his time at the Royal Wardrobe, Sir George had little enough to spare in keeping her safe from the intrusions of neighbours. Master Pearce would never have challenged her ownership of the mill had she not been so vulnerable. And now she knew her parents would not hesitate to approve of the arrangement to allow Signor Datini to stay. But how approving would the villagers of Sandrock be?

Chapter Two

As soon as she had given her reluctant agreement, Aphra knew that this was indeed the madness of a woman not thinking clearly. To accept the help of a man at this unsettled time, when her emotions were so confused, was something she had been determined never to do. What had she been thinking of? Had it been his warmth as he stood too close? Why had she allowed that, when no stranger ought to have come so near?

Barely half an hour after Signor Datini’s departure, she sent one of the young estate workers to ride after him with a folded piece of paper taken from Ben’s store on which she had written her change of mind. He must not return to Sandrock, but go back to Padua, she had told him. She would manage well enough on her own.

Convinced that that was the last she would see of this unnecessary interference, the control which had almost slipped away now returned, helping her to justify the growing theory in her mind that there was some malevolent alchemy at work between herself and men that must be prevented from worsening.

Only last year, when she and her cousin Etta had been with the royal court, an attempt had been made on her life which others present had believed was intended for the Queen. Her own family knew differently, but the foolish young man responsible had suffered a traitor’s death and Aphra had been more deeply affected by this than she had disclosed to her relieved parents.

Then she had lost Leon, whose letter had made little sense to her, leaving her hurt, angry, confused, rejected and bitter. After that, her beloved uncle had died in London in what she felt were mysterious circumstances that had not yet been explained fully except to say that he had complained in the past of chest pains. Ben had said nothing of this to Aphra when he’d visited Reedacre Manor on his way to London, but by then she had had Leon’s letter and their conversation had been mostly about her pain, not Ben’s. He, too, had been profoundly shocked to hear of Leon’s deceit and had offered her what comforting words he could, but nothing in his manner had warned her that they would never speak again.

Her parents had dealt philosophically with her tragedies, pointing out that men were no more likely to deceive than women and that death visited at will and often without invitation. The recent death of old Lady Agnes, Aphra’s grandmother, had not been altogether unexpected, but none of them could have foreseen Ben’s sudden demise, a man in the full flood of life and brilliant at his profession. These losses in such a short time should not, they had told her, be seen as particularly significant, but they had discounted the desperate young man last summer while Aphra had not, nor had they taken into account their daughter’s vulnerable state of mind that preferred answers to the random workings of fate.

They had refused to take seriously her decision to remain unmarried for the rest of her life, but nor had they tried to persuade her otherwise. It was not her father’s way to propel her into a marriage of his choosing, not even for an only daughter, for he and his wife had fallen in love at first sight and knew the workings of passionate hearts. For Aphra, however, her mind was immovable on that point, though she had not yet been successful in making her intentions understood by Master Richard Pearce.

Signor Datini’s visit had made her aware, though, of some issues that ought to be addressed without delay if Master Pearce should push forward his claim to some of her property, one of which meant finding the map of Sandrock that the man said had been replaced by a newer version. In itself, that was not so surprising, for land had been redistributed since the priory had been sold to Aphra’s grandfather for his own personal use. Doctor Ben had not wanted to keep all the fields under his control, so had sold some of them to the village freeholders, though Aphra did not believe this included the flour mill standing well within her boundaries.

The estate accounts were another issue she ought to have attended to by now, having been put off too many times by Master Fletcher, the steward whose job it was to discuss them with her every week. So far, she had not seen them at all and had come to the conclusion that she was not meant to, but a confrontation with the steward was not an inviting prospect when she would have to tackle it on her own.

* * *

Sleep evaded her that night, as it so often had recently. The full moon cast a silver light through her window, washing her room with a soft glow that changed all colours to monochrome, transmuting decisions into doubts and back again as the events of the day wandered through her mind. Questions remained unanswered. Why had Leon’s brother come all this way to see her? Why would the Datini family care about her? To share the burden, he’d said. What burden? Did they think she might pester him, perhaps? Write to his tutors at Padua? Did they feel some responsibility for his actions or was it just to discover more about her state of mind?

Hugging her woollen shawl around her shoulders, she gave in to those thoughts that had not been allowed an entry in the daylight. Now she understood how foolish she had been in accepting Leon’s plans for their future before any formal agreement was in place, yet at the time his passion had lost nothing by the irresponsibility of it. She had been cool, at first, while he had visited her ailing grandmother as she was nursing her. There had been more to concern her than the good looks and charming manner of the young man sent by Dr Ben from Sandrock and it was only when he accompanied her and her cousin Etta, now Lady Somerville, to London that she discovered how much they had in common and how easy he was to talk to.

Gradually, over several weeks, their friendship had deepened and, in an unprepared moment of closeness, they had declared a love for each other that had crept up on them almost unawares. She had trusted him completely. In her happy eagerness, she had allowed him a few innocent intimacies as a natural expression of her generosity and, it had to be said, her curiosity, too. They had talked of a future together while riding high on waves of desire, which Aphra now realised must have been Leon’s way of securing both her interest and her loyalty. He would be back in the new year, he told her, to continue his work with Dr Ben, the details of how they would live being lost in a haze of sweet love-talk and affirmations of fidelity.

At the time, it had not occurred to her to press him, a student, for more than vague promises and even now she could scarcely believe how easily she had been deceived. For his elder brother to say that he still loved her was nonsense when he had made legal promises to another woman. Perhaps Signor Datini had said it hoping to soothe her wounded pride but, if so, it had no such effect. She wanted no more to do with the Datinis.

Of more pressing interest to her was to discover what she could about the manner of Ben’s sudden death and the question of his prepared will. A man did not usually make a will until he knew his days were limited. Only then did he decide who would make best use of his belongings. Did this mean that Ben had anticipated his own death? And if so, then why? From what cause? And why had he told no one?

The moon had sailed on well past the window by the time Aphra found sleep at last.

* * *

Scarcely had she spooned the last of her porridge into her mouth when she was visited by the priest, Father Vickery, who had been a novice at Sandrock Priory with the late Dr Ben Spenney and whose long, lean frame signified a lifetime of austerity. His thick white eyebrows were almost hidden by a fringe of hair, the tonsure being a thing of the past. His voice, now several shades darker, was still musical.

‘Father,’ Aphra said, indicating a stool, ‘what a pleasant surprise. Will you be seated?’

His grey woollen habit, now threadbare, could not hide bony knees poking into the fabric as he sat. ‘Good morning, Mistress Betterton. I would not disturb you at this hour except for a matter of some importance,’ he said, accepting with a smile the beaker of ale. ‘It concerns our steward, Master Fletcher.’

‘Ah,’ Aphra said. ‘What a coincidence. He’s at the top of my list of people to see today.’

The priest was already shaking his head. ‘You’ll not be seeing him today nor any other day,’ he said. ‘I’ve just seen the back of him riding away on one of your horses, leading a packhorse behind him with all his possessions on it. And some of yours, too, I wouldn’t be surprised.’

Aphra stood up, frowning in anger. ‘How long ago was this, Father?’

‘Just a few moments ago. I called to him, but he clapped his heels to the horse’s belly and trotted away as fast as he could go. It was no good me running after him. Not with my knees.’

‘Indeed not, but somebody should. I could go after him myself, in fact.’

‘Nay, mistress. Best to let him go. We need a better man than him.’

‘That’s not the point,’ Aphra said, peering through the window. ‘If he’s taken anything of mine, I want it back. And I want to know what he’s done with the household accounts. They’re private, Father.’ She headed for the door. ‘Perhaps you’d care to come with me? On horseback, of course.’

Father Vickery winced as he rose to his feet and gulped down the rest of the ale. ‘Gladly,’ he said, stretching the truth a little.

His willingness, however, was not put to the test for, as they walked into the cobbled courtyard together, the multiple clatter of hooves reached them from the arched gatehouse where a party of riders appeared led by Signor Datini. Behind him, flanked by two mounted men, rode Master Fletcher with hands bound behind him, followed by two packhorses led by a groom. Looking back on this incident, Aphra could never find adequate words to describe her emotions, especially when her expectations of seeing both Signor Datini and Master Fletcher ever again were nil. Not on that day or any other. Fortunately, it was Father Vickery who found suitable words of welcome, even though he and Santo had not met, until now.

‘Well...well,’ he said. ‘Welcome back, Master Fletcher. Word gets round rather quickly in a village of this size, doesn’t it? Well caught, sir,’ he called to Santo. ‘You see what a difference your presence can make? More difference than Ben’s, I’d say,’ he added under his breath. ‘So this is your Italian lawyer, mistress?’ he said to Aphra.

‘He’s not...’ Aphra stopped herself. If word of an Italian lawyer had leaked out with the help of Richard Pearce, then why bother to refute it if this was what good it might do? So instead of arguing with him about being here when she’d sent him packing only yesterday, she introduced him to the priest as if everything the latter had said was true.

‘You’ll be staying with us for a while, signor?’ said Father Vickery.

‘Until Mistress Betterton has no more use for me, Father,’ Santo said as if his invitation had never been in doubt. ‘I took the liberty of changing the direction of our friend here, until we’d had a chance to check on what he’s removed. He insists that everything here belongs to him, but I believe he didn’t include the horses. They are yours, mistress?’ His eyes twinkled mischievously as he saw how she tried to hide her embarrassment and he knew she was not finding the situation easy to accept.

‘Master Fletcher knows they are. I am sorry to find he’s a thief, as well as an inefficient steward, but I did not expect him to leave without any kind of explanation. Did you take my ledgers with you?’ she asked him.

Stumbling down from the saddle, Fletcher stood uneasily with bound hands and the beginning of an angry bruise on his cheek, his expression loaded with guilt. ‘No, mistress,’ he said. ‘I left them in the cottage there.’ His nod indicated the neat little house built into the corner of the courtyard where the stewards of Sandrock had always combined home and office. Stewards were usually educated men with a good grasp of accounting and management skills, though Master Fletcher and his new employer had met only a few times, briefly, and now Aphra blamed herself for not attending to that side of things before it had come to this.

‘He’d better be locked in the cellar until we can notify the magistrate,’ Santo said, looking around him. ‘Is that the door, over there?’

‘No, wait!’ Aphra said. ‘Master Fletcher and I need to talk about this first. Untie him, take the horses back to the stable and unpack those bags.’

‘One of them is mine,’ Santo reminded her.

‘I know that, signor. Have it unpacked. Bring Master Fletcher into the house, if you will. You are welcome to come, too, Father. You know the steward’s duties as well as I do. And have the ledgers brought in here. We need to see what’s been going on.’

‘Nay, mistress...please!’ Fletcher pleaded, rubbing his wrists. ‘You’ll not like what you see. Give me time...’

Aphra turned away to the house. ‘I shall not like anything at all until I’ve seen them, shall I? At least I’m giving you the chance to explain yourself instead of running away from the problem. Come in here. Sit down. Have you eaten today?’

‘By the smell of him,’ Santo said, ‘he’s already helped himself to your wine. You’re surely not going to feed him, mistress?’ Protectively, he placed himself between her and the steward.

‘When he’s answered some of my questions, yes. A half-starved steward will be no good to me, will he? Is there not a Mistress Fletcher somewhere?’

Fletcher passed a hand over his eyes, pulling his features downwards in one heavy sweep. He was not an unhandsome man, though he was unkempt and showing signs of strain brought on by some deep unhappiness. ‘No,’ he whispered, glancing at the priest. ‘Father Vickery knows...she...’ His voice broke as his features screwed up in pain.

‘Last year,’ said the priest, quietly. ‘Died in childbirth. She and the babe. Their first. Only been married two years. Buried here, in the churchyard.’

‘Yes, I see,’ Aphra said. ‘Accept my sympathies, Master Fletcher. I take it that’s when you forgot to keep the accounts, is it? Since then?’

Fascinated, Santo watched as she took control of the situation, sending for porridge, bread, cheese and milk for the man who had just tried to make off with her belongings from the cottage after cheating his way through years of work poorly supervised by her predecessor, Dr Ben. No wonder the thought of an Italian lawyer on the premises had been the last straw. He thought what a remarkable woman she was, more concerned for the man’s genuine distress than for her own inconvenience. He watched the man begin to eat, his table manners perfectly acceptable, although the absence of a wife had clearly had an effect on his personal hygiene. Santo drew Aphra away to one side, leaving the priest and the steward to talk. ‘What do you intend?’ he said. ‘To keep him on? It’s a risk, you know. As your new Italian lawyer, I ought to advise you against it. He was taking your property.’

‘As my new Italian lawyer,’ she said with a sideways glare, ‘you lack compassion, signor. As a merchant, you could oblige me by justifying your decision to ignore my request to go away and by going through the accounts with him and Father Vickery. He knows what ought to be included in them, so between the three of you, you should be able to come up with some results. If he has nothing to look forward to, he has no reason to co-operate, does he? If we put him back...’

‘You’re going to give him another chance?’

‘Of course I am. It’s obviously the loss of his wife and child that’s caused the problem and, anyway, where am I going to get another steward who knows as much about the place as he does? They don’t come two-a-penny, you know.’

The handsome face widened into a smile, making her heart flutter. ‘I like that. Two for a penny. That means, not easy to find. Yes?’

‘Yes. Unlike some Italian merchants who cannot take no for an answer.’

The smile stayed. ‘I did not think you really meant it, mistress.’

‘I did really mean it,’ she growled, returning to the table. ‘But now you’re here, you may as well make yourself useful.’

* * *

So for the rest of that morning and well into the afternoon, Santo and Father Vickery sat with the steward with the ledgers spread out before them while they ate, drank good ale and tried to rectify the housekeeping mess. After seeing a similar kind of disorder in the steward’s cottage, Aphra got three women from the village to scrub the place out, to wash the stale bedlinen and clothes, and to replace them with some that had been used by Dr Ben’s students. The few items of furniture were polished and supplemented by others, the little cot removed, food placed in the kitchen, oil in the lamps, firewood in the hearth, and a widow found to housekeep and cook for him who needed just this kind of employment to put money into her purse. Aphra’s money.

To his credit, Father Vickery offered to double-check the accounts with Fletcher before submitting them to Aphra each week, which they all understood to be both a help and a safeguard against any back-sliding. Unintentional the deceptions might have been, but Aphra could not afford to turn a blind eye to mismanagement, as Dr Ben had apparently been doing.

* * *

‘I think,’ said Santo, sitting down to supper in Aphra’s comfortable parlour, ‘your uncle was more interested in his medicinal studies than in household management.’

‘And I,’ said Aphra, arranging her skirts as she sat opposite him, ‘failed to deal with that side of things as soon as I came to live here. Have we lost a lot?’

He liked the sound of the ‘we’ in her question. ‘That’s difficult to tell now,’ he replied, ‘but the purchases and sales have not all been recorded properly so it’s quite likely that your uncle has been cheated over the year. That will have to stop. Perhaps it’s a good thing that word is getting round about your lawyer being here to keep an eye on things.’

‘That,’ said Aphra, primly, eyeing the dishes being placed on the table, ‘is something I must discuss with you. As you say, word is getting around, and that’s what I don’t want. That’s why you should go back to Italy, signor.’

‘But now you’ve changed your mind.’

‘I have not changed my mind. I would not want you to return to Reedacre Manor in the dark, but you cannot stay more than one night. You and your men can use the rooms across there.’ She pointed through the window to the stone-built dwelling across on the other side of the square garden. ‘It was once the visiting abbots’ house. Plenty of space on both floors. I’ve given a man the task of looking after your needs. And tomorrow, you must leave Sandrock and return to my parents’ house. Your help today is appreciated, but now I shall manage on my own.’

‘But you may recall,’ Santo said, ‘that Sir George and Lady Betterton have now left Reedacre Manor for London. When we said farewell this morning, they were of the opinion that my help here would be a good thing for you.’

‘They would. It’s a big place.’

‘And you really do not need a man’s help?’ he said, persuasively.

‘Not the help of a man like you.’

‘A man like me?’

‘The brother of the man who deceived me,’ she said. ‘Did you think I’d welcome you with open arms, signor? My memory is not so short as all that.’

‘I believe that’s what the English call “tarring everyone with the same brush”, isn’t it? I am not to be confused with my brother, mistress. He was guilty of a gross misjudgement. I am a merchant and I’ve learnt not to do that. Laws are there to be kept. If I were untrustworthy, no one would do business with me. My family’s good name would suffer, which is why my father insisted on Leon keeping his word.’

‘I’m glad he did so,’ Aphra said, daintily picking up a rabbit’s roasted foreleg and deciding which bit to nibble. ‘I would not want a husband who breaks promises so easily.’ She pushed a dish towards him. ‘This is sage and onion stuffing,’ she said. ‘It goes well with rabbit. I did not mean to tar you with the same brush as your brother, Signor Datini. I am sure you are honourable in all your dealings. But I made a decision to be alone here, after what’s happened, to give me time to reflect and to carry on some of the work my uncle began with his plants. I intend to supply London doctors with the raw material, as he did. They don’t all grow the plants they use in medicines, you know, nor do they buy them from just anyone. Only from growers they can trust.’

‘That’s an excellent line to pursue, mistress. You have the gardens and the men to tend them, and your uncle’s research, too. One cannot allow years to elapse before picking up where he left off. They’re not all perennials, are they?’

Not looking at him, Aphra continued to nibble at the meat. ‘What do you know about perennials?’ she said. ‘Was that a shot in the dark?’

That smile again, diverting her thoughts, fractionally. ‘Another one,’ he said. ‘A shot in the dark. No, I know that perennials seed themselves and multiply each year, and that others are known as biennials, appearing for only two years, and that others must be re-sown every year. Annuals. My brother told me that.’

‘He was Dr Ben’s most talented student.’

‘Was he? I didn’t know that. He didn’t say. But I know he was trying to establish a system for naming plants that everyone would understand. He found all the various names very confusing, to say the least.’

‘It can be dangerous, too. Mistakes have been made because of wrong identification.’

‘Which is why apothecaries and doctors trusted your uncle and a good reason why you should follow in his footsteps, mistress. And if you could manage to keep the apothecary’s foreign imports separate from your household accounts, Fletcher would be able to give you a clearer picture of exactly what materials you’re buying and for how much. You also need records of what herbs you’re exporting, too.’

‘What do you mean?’ Aphra said, pausing in her eating. ‘That the medicinal plants are mixed up with supplies of sugar loaves and spices? And barley?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid so. I cannot believe that your household needs bulk supplies of alkanet and juniper berries and senna, does it? All that ought to be in a separate book kept only for the apothecary department, or the stillroom, or wherever you prepare it. Some are very expensive items. I import some of them myself.’

Wide-eyed, Aphra studied his face and knew he was not making this up. ‘I didn’t know that. You’re right, Dr Ben was perhaps not as concerned about balancing the books as he was about obtaining the very best ingredients. We have to do something about this, immediately.’