The King’s Concubine: A Novel of Alice Perrers by Anne O'Brien Read Free Book Online

that it ran in Master Greseley’s veins. He wrote a fine hand and could guide a quill up and down the columns of figures, counting with impressive acumen. He disregarded me to the same extent that he was deaf to the vermin that scuttled across the floor of the room in which he kept the books and ledgers of money lent and reclaimed. I did not like him. There was a coldness to him that I found unpalatable.
    And then there was me. The maidservant who undertook all the work not assigned to the boy. And some that was.
    Thus my first introduction to the Perrers family. And since it was a good score of miles from Barking Abbey, it was not beyond my tolerance.
    “ God help th’man who weds you, mistress…!”
    “I’m not going to be married!”
    My vigorous assertion returned to mock me. Within a sennight I found myself exchanging vows at the church door.
    Given the tone of her language, Signora Damiata was as astonished as I, and brutally forthright when I was summoned to join brother and sister in the parlor at the rear of the house, where, by the expression on the lady’s face, Master Perrers had just broken the news of his intent.
    “Blessed Mary! Why marry?” she demanded. “You have a son, an heir, learning the family business in Lombardy. I keep your house. You want a wife at your age?” Her accent grew stronger, the syllables hissing over one another.
    “I wish it.” Master Perrers continued leafing through the pages of a small ledger he had taken from his pocket.
    “Then choose a daughter of one of our merchant families. A girl with a dowry and a family with some standing. Jesu! Are you not listening?” She raised her fists as if she might strike him. “This one is not a suitable wife for a man of your importance.”
    Did I think that he did not rule the roost? On this occasion I could not have been more mistaken. He looked briefly at me. “I will have her. I will wed her. That is the end of the matter.”
    I, of course, was not asked. I stood in this three-cornered dialogue yet not a part of it, the bone squabbled over by two dogs. Except that Master Perrers did not squabble. He simply stated his intention until his sister closed her mouth and let it be. So I was wed in the soiled skirts in which I chopped the onions and gutted the fish. Clearly there was no money earmarked to be spent on a new wife. Sullen and resentful, shocked into silence, certainly no joyful bride, I complied because I must. I was joined in matrimony with Janyn Perrers on the steps of the church, with witnesses to attest the deed. Signora Damiata, grim faced and silent; Master Greseley, because he was available, with no expression at all. A few words muttered over us by a bored priest in an empty ritual, and I was a wife.
    There was little to show for it.
    No celebration, no festivity, no recognition of my change in position in the household. Not even a cup of ale and a bride cake. It was, I realized, nothing more than a business agreement, and since I had brought nothing to it, there was no need to celebrate it. All I recall was the rain soaking through my hood as we stood and exchanged vows and the shrill cries of lads who fought amongst themselves for the handful of coin that Master Perrers scattered as a reluctant sign of his goodwill. Oh, and I recall Master Perrers’s fingers gripping hard on mine, the only reality in this ceremony that was not at all real to me.
    Was it better than being a Bride of Christ? Was marriage better than servitude? To my mind there was little difference. After the ceremony I was directed to sweep down the cobwebs that festooned the storerooms in the cellar. I took out my bad temper with my brush, making the spiders run for cover.
    There was no cover for me. Where would I run?
    And beneath my anger was a lurking fear, for the night, my wedding night, was ominously close, and Master Perrers was no handsome lover.
    The Signora came to my room that was hardly bigger than a large coffer, tucked high under