and well enough to suit me," Middleton replied, dryly.
"I have always sought to please you, Father," Catherine said. " Tis a source of great discomfort to me that I have always failed to do so. Would that I had been a son and not a daughter, then doubtless I would have found it much less of a hardship to find favor in your eyes."
"Would indeed that you had been a son and not a daughter," said her father. "Then I would not have had to pay nearly a king's ransom to get you married off."
Gregory, the young apprentice, chuckled at that, but Catherine ignored him. The only evidence she gave that she had heard him was a tightening of her upper lip. Elizabeth thought it was insufferable that her father should speak to her that way in front of Strangers. She felt awkward being in the same room with them herself.
"And yet you are paying merely in coin and a vested interest in your business," Catherine said, "while I am paying with my body and my soul and all my worldly goods. If the shoe were on the other foot, and 'twas I who paid the dowry to have
you
married off, then which of us, I wonder, would you think was paying the greater price?"
"The greatest price, I fear, shall be paid by poor Sir Percival, who shall be marrying naught but trouble and strife," said Middle-ton. "My conscience is clear, however, for none can say that I made any misrepresentations at all in that regard. Indeed, I made a point of it to acquaint Sir Percival in full with the nature of your disputatious disposition, so that no claim could afterward be made that I was not forthright in all respects concerning this betrothal and this union, and so that no rancor ever could be borne."
"And that is very well, for I would not wish you to bear Sir Percy's rancor, Father," Catherine said. "Better by far that a husband should bear rancor towards his bride than towards his father-in-law. 'Tis well that you have so fully acquainted him with the nature of my disposition, as you say, for now at least one of us shall know something of the one with whom we are to say our vows."
Her father harrumphed and frowned, looking as if he were about to make a sharp rejoinder, but instead chose to direct his comments towards the tailor. "Are you finished yet with all this bother? God's Wounds, one would think that you were costuming the queen herself!"
"A moment more, milord," the tailor said, fussing about and hovering around Catherine like some great predatory bird. He made a few final adjustments, stepped back to admire his handiwork, nodded to himself with satisfaction and then clapped his hands, signalling his apprentices to finish and pack everything away.
"At last!" said Catherine, with a heavy sigh. "I was beginning to feel like some bedraggled scarecrow in the field."
"Would that your dress were no more expensive than a scarecrow's," said her father. "With what this fellow charges for his work, I could attire at least half the court."
"Milord, I
have
attired at least half the court," the tailor responded stiffly, "and upon occasion, even Her Majesty herself, as you must surely know, for you had inquired about my work before you ever came to me. If a gentleman wishes to have nothing but the very best, then he must be prepared to pay for nothing but the very best. I can assure you that once the work is done, and your daughter in her wedding dress would make the goddess Aphrodite blush for the meanness of her own apparel, I am confident that you will consider the money to have been well spent, indeed."
"Spent is just how I shall feel when all of this is over," Middleton replied. "No sooner shall I have recovered from the ordeal of marrying off" my eldest daughter than I shall have to contend with marrying off" my youngest, who already has suitors flocked about her like hounds baying at the moon. A day does not go by, it seems, when some young rascal does not come pleading for her hand."
"Well, be of good cheer then, Father," Catherine said, "for at least you have