Mistress of Mourning by Karen Harper Read Free Book Online Page B

twice for a betrothal and dropped it on one side of our large scales. The balance trays bounced slightly askew. “And,” he added, “you rode off with a man. I’ll not have you looking like a common woman, a doxy, not the woman I wish to wed! Others know I favor you, and they will think you have rejected me.”
    “I did ride to the palace this morn with a courtier and royal guard, and now have permission from the queen to explain why.”
    He gaped at me like a beached fish. “The queen. The queen? Leave off!”
    “It is true. Yesterday she sent one of her ladies with that courtier to fetch me and asked me to carve candles for the new Spanish princess’s wedding gifts. She desires to have them carved at the palace, a special, secret gift.”
    “Angel candles?”
    “No, but finely decorated ones. I assured her that though I am, as a woman, not permitted to be a member of the Worshipful Guild of Wax Chandlers, they would understand and support my efforts, and I knew when I told one of the governors of the guild, who was my friend, that he—you—would respect her privacy in this matter.”
    He had not yet blinked. May the Lord forgive me—for I was already deep in lies, but I decided to push my great good luck even more. Not to request admittance to the guild, for I knew full well that only a few guilds, such as weavers, broiderers, and brewers, permitted female members. Besides, thatplea would give Christopher another reason to insist how much he could do for me in wedlock.
    But how I had yearned to be permitted to donate votives for the guild’s secret, prestigious religious fraternity that worshiped in the crypt of St. Paul’s Cathedral, below the very site of the mass to follow the royal wedding. Everyone knew a bounty of blessing befell anyone who contributed to the Guild of the Holy Name of Jesus. Christopher had been holding it over my head that if I would but accept the betrothal ring that weighed down my scales right before my nose, I could, through him, donate alms and benevolences in support of the rites of that guild.
    “I’m afraid,” I said to him, “that I told Her Majesty a bit of a lie. In speaking to her about the wedding at St. Paul’s—and, of course, she knew our—your—guild is furnishing candles for that—I implied that I also made candles and gave alms for the Holy Name guild that met in the crypt there.”
    “Oh…ah, yes. I could care for that—you could be included. And why not suggest to her that the guild provide more candles for the prince and princess’s gifts? I hear they will go to live at Ludlow Castle in Wales, where he had been before as Prince of Wales. Rainy, dreary, I hear—much light needed. Tell her—or I could go with you to suggest it—we could contribute candles for their Welsh castle. And, yes, yes, I repeat, I will see to it that your chandlery can donate to the secret rites of the Holy Name.”
    “She has given me a room in which to work at the palace, but she is very busy and I see her seldom. I canpromise, though, to speak to her on the guild’s behalf. I’m to come alone to the palace, though. And word about my carving there is not to go beyond the guild’s governors.”
    “God as my judge, I can see to that. But the wax for it. Do you have enough good wax for the extra candles? Can I be of help there?”
    “I do not know her source, but she has provided
cera bianca
for me. If it is not too much to ask, could you donate a bit of the vermilion you use to color sealing wax?”
    “Red candles? Perhaps a Spanish custom, eh? Of course. You’ll need a bit of Venice turpentine for the mix too. It’s my chandlery’s secret yellow-green resinous extract from larch trees. It’s precious, but then so is this task you have been given—and so are you to me.”
    He picked up the ruby ring, and the scales bounced back to their balanced position. For once, I felt a bit of power over him. I was not so in thrall to his wishes.
    “A partnership in all ways,