Chapter 3
“It’s all a marvel, to be sairtain,” Lady Ann whispered, her blue eyes filled with delight. “To talk w’ people who come from the future! Did they tell your fortune?”
She and Margaret huddled together in the anteroom on the extreme end of a wooden bench the day after the visit to the Tower. Margaret had been able to relate her experience of meeting the Americans without worry of being overheard, as long as she didn’t mention the flashlight. This she had demonstrated to her friend very privately in the garderobe with Hettie guarding the door. The small device now reposed in her innermost pocket slid around on an internal tie like her money purse so it could not be reached between plackets.
“Nothing like that. They are very kind,” Margaret repeated, pitching her whisper so it could be heard by others in the anteroom who were frankly eavesdropping. They could all have done the same, and visited the Americans, if they had chosen. “They invited me to call again.”
“And shall ye do it?” Lady Ann asked. She squeezed Margaret’s hands. “O’ course ye will! And ye shall take me w’ ye. I’ve a passion to go and see them for mesel’.”
The gentleman in apple-green silk only a step away looked as though he was going to ask to be a third in the party, but looked hastily away when Margaret glanced over at him. Lady Ann chuckled.
“Mistress Margaret de Beauchamp?” A courtier with long, curled hair and a very handsomely embroidered lace collar bedecking the shoulders of his blue silk suit emerged from the linenfold doors. Margaret rose from her place on the bench, her back straight as a poker. “This way, if you please, madame.”
Having Hettie with her would have given her confidence, but the man gave her no time to call for her servant. Margaret squared her shoulders and minced forward, careful to keep her posture in the fashionable manner. She had rehearsed and rehearsed again that morning what to say and what not to say to the great man once she was in his presence. Lady Mailey had put it so succinctly: her family’s industry was of great use to the crown. To squeeze it dry would profit neither them nor His Majesty. If only she did not faint dead away before she could utter a word!
To her great relief, the Earl of Cork was not unaware of the way he struck visitors. When the gentleman announced her, the small man in black rose from the ornately-carved chair at his desk and smiled at her gently.
“Mistress de Beauchamp,” he said. “A great privilege to make your acquaintance.”
“I am honored that you have seen fit to hear me, my lord,” Margaret said, curtseying deeply.
“Aye, and I am proud to be of service to eenyone who serves His Majesty so well.” He gestured to a small chair before his desk. “Pray be seated, Miss de Beauchamp. How may I assist ye this day?”
Margaret liked the burr in his voice. It reminded her of the people from Manchester and Liverpool she had met who came to Staffordshire to take the woolsacks and finished fabric to the ships.
“My lord, my father, Sir Timothy, is only the latest in our family to give such service to the crown. We have provided the finest of woolens to His Majesty’s court and troops. My father even has a kindly note written to his father from the late king proclaiming his gratitude and noting the excellence of our goods. We have striven to be good and loyal subjects, giving only the best of our produce to His Majesty and his royal ancestors for centuries now. As I don’t doubt you know, the past two winters have been fierce in the Midlands, causing a decline in the number of sheep running in our fields, and hence the number of fleeces that may be shorn from them. Still, we have willingly paid all the tariffs and taxes asked of us. My lord…” She noticed that the genial expression on his face had frozen. No doubt he was aware of what she was about to say. She swallowed hard. There was no way to sweeten the truth, nor would delay improve its flavor. “…My lord, we are aware of our obligations, and wish dearly to fulfill them, but the income from our trade is to fall short this quarter. And”—she caught her breath—“possibly the quarter to follow. We hope that my brother’s voyages abroad will make up the lack in the summer, but for now, my father begs—I beg—His Majesty’s forbearance for now. We will do our best to make up the remainder in the last quarter.”
The noble’s brows drew down over the bridge of his sharp nose. “Well, now, Mistress de Beauchamp. Taxes are the responsibility of every subject of His Majesty.”
“And well aware of it we are, my lord!” Margaret wrung her hands. “We would not ask at all if we could avoid it. I apologize sincerely for the necessity.” She felt tears sting at her eyes. I will not cry and shame my father, she insisted to herself. I will not! “If His Majesty would show mercy to faithful subjects, it would only endear him further in our hearts.”
“Love does not fill pocketbooks, my dear,” the Earl of Cork said. His face softened slightly. “Ah, but it’s been a hard season for us all, so it has. Let me think on it a bit, and enquire of the king as to his will. Come back again on the Friday, and I’ll have an answer for ye then.” He stood up. Margaret sprang to her feet. the Earl rang the small bell on his desk. The audience was at an end. She curtseyed even deeper than she had upon entering.
“I thank you, my lord,” she said, her dignity restored. The flunky arrived and she followed him into the anteroom. Lady Ann looked a question. All Margaret could find the strength to do was raise her shoulders in a shrug. Waiting was agony indeed, but wait she must.
* * *
To her dismay, Friday brought doubly bad news. In her turn, Lady Ann had disappeared through the linenfold door at the summons of the blue-suited flunky. She returned with an uncharacteristic frown on her lovely face.
“Och, it’s only to be expaycted!” she said, shaking her head and making the long, carroty curls dance. “With nae queen, His Majesty has nae need f’r ladies in waiting. And finally, he’s sent word to let me go. His lordship gave me all the courtesy in the world, but bid me godspeed and fair weather on ma return to the Highlands! At least it’s the spring, and the seas ought to be ca’m enough. If I’m not to be a queen’s maid, me da’ll no doubt see about getting me married off. I don’t mind. There are some likely lordlings there about who’ll make me a good match.”
“You’re going home?” Margaret cried, feeling her heart sink.
“Aye.” Lady Ann took Margaret’s hands and squeezed them. “Wish ye could come alongside me. I feel as if we’ve made close friends.”
“Oh, I feel that way, too!” The young women embraced, to the amusement of the others in the anteroom.
A gentle “hem!” close to her shoulder made Margaret sit back. The man in blue silk lowered a lugubrious mien to her.
“Mistress de Beauchamp?” As Margaret made to rise, he held up a hand. “No, mistress, no need to rise. The Earl of Cork regrets that he has no time to see you today.”
“Shall I return on the morrow, then?”
He shook his head with a practiced little smile that wore sorrow on its corners, and lowered his voice to a murmur. “I am afraid not, mistress. He sends his deepest apologies, but His Majesty requires all taxes and tariffs to be paid this year without fail. He salutes your father’s adherence to the crown, and is grateful for centuries of service, but requires the sums due. The crown’s expenses must be paid. He will give you a month’s grace past the coming quarter-day to pay your yearly tariff, but that is all.”
“Oh, but if I may make a personal appeal to His Majesty?” Margaret pleaded, shocked to her core. Her father would be devastated! She had watched her brother bargaining enough times to hope that his tactics would work here. “Please, I have come such a long way. Perhaps if I may ask him myself? We would be pleased to offer bolts of fine cloth as a gift in thanks to him…and anyone else who aids us. Our woolens are renowned, as you might already know.”
The official’s expression didn’t change, and Margaret’s heart sank. The bribe wasn’t good enough. “I am very sorry, mistress. The king is receiving no visitors. His lordship wishes you a safe journey home, and looks forward to receiving the statutory funds.”
* * *
“So, all Father’s investment in me as his agent were for naught,” Margaret said, wringing her handkerchief in her hands. It was already wet through with tears, but she had no other. Hettie clucked over her like a hen, rubbing her shoulder. The Americans sat beside her on the settee with sympathetic looks. “I have failed his trust in me. We will probably have to sell some of the smaller estates. Baronet Macy to the east has always been interested in the pastures in the curve of the river. It’s some of our best grazing land, but he’s willing to buy. Father will be beside himself with woe. He counts on every asset.”
“I’m so sorry,” Rita said, patting her knee. “I know that’s hard news to take.”
Margaret shook her head. “All that wool that we’ve been sending to the warehouses in Liverpool and here in London, waiting for the merchants to take abroad is not enough to make up the shortfall. I’ve been to see our storesmaster, Robert Bywell. The hauliers have had less to do than we like, and the boatmen have been taking jobs from other companies on the side to make ends meet. The markets have been as tight as a cork in a bottle. It feels like casting what pennies we have into the bottom of a deep sea, and no mermaids bringing us pearls in exchange. We need three hundred pounds now, and as much by the end of the year. It’s hopeless.”
The Americans had been more than cordial to receive Margaret once again. They had welcomed Lady Ann with alacrity. Lady Mailey had immediately taken to her, as Margaret knew she would. They were two wise souls, who immediately found common ground on which to converse. Margaret wished that that intelligent perspective would rub off on her, and give her some wisdom to bring back to her father.
“I wish I had a fortune to give to ye,” Lady Ann said, lifting her hands. “I’ve no’ that much of gold in my purse that I could lend to thee, and I’ve my journey home to pay for. I’d give ye what I could, but accidents happen, and I may need every coin at hand.” She slapped her knee. “I’ll have ma father send ye the sum when I return home. He’d do it readily for a true friend of mine. Ye can pay it back over years, I promise. There’ll be no hurry in th’ world.”
Though she was touched deeply. Margaret shook her head. “It might take you a month or more to get home, and the tariffs need to be paid sooner than that. Besides that, my father would rather die of the pox than incur more indebtedness. I mean no offense. He could countenance asking the king for mercy, or sell assets to our neighbors, but he would prefer to have the fewest possible know of our need. And with the shortfall likely to amass further in days to come—well, there’s no end to it that I can see. But I thank you for your kind offer with all my heart.”
Rita raised her eyebrows to Lady Mailey and the other women in the room, and seemed to gather some consensus. “What if we could lay our hands on the money here in London?” she asked.
“I can’t ask you, either,” Margaret said. “As with Lady Ann, you’ll likely need all the funds at your disposal because of…” She stopped, realizing she almost committed a terrible error of tact.
But, dismayingly, Lady Mailey picked up at once on her thought.
“Because of our unjust incarceration?” she asked, with that acerbic tone. “Don’t worry about us. On the other hand, your father might be worried about knowing that the funds came from the strangers the king has clapped in the Tower.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” the big man, Rita’s husband Tom, said.
“But it is,” Lady Mailey said, turning to her compatriots, stern-faced. “Sir Timothy doesn’t need the stigma of being aided by potential enemies of the Crown.”
“I didn’t think of that,” Tom said. The big man frowned. “We’re not enemies, but I suppose the king is afraid of what our history books have told him.”
“It works out the same,” the former schoolteacher said. “Any association with us could backfire upon Sir Timothy later on.” Margaret didn’t understand the pointed expressions that the Americans exchanged, but she comprehended the sentiment of the words. It was true: her father would be wise not to attract negative attention.
“What about a straight purchase?” Rita asked. “I could, er, send a message to my brother. I’m sure he’d be happy to buy quality woolen cloth for uniforms for the new navy.”
Margaret gave her a small smile. She was so grateful for her new friend’s kindness. “I’m afraid what bolts we have left after the shipments that went to the continent with my brother that we could satisfy such an order.” She knew too well that a wet winter and illness among the weavers had cut well back on the expected output. The guild master had been scathing, as if he expected Sir Timothy to change the weather.
“Well, we could advance you the money for future goods,” Rita said. “I’m sure you’re good for it. Let me…let me send a message to him and ask.”
“That could take weeks,” Margaret said. “We have too little time. Best for me to make preparations to return home. Bad news will not improve with keeping.”
So, selling the assets it would have to be. Hundreds of years they had managed the gift from the Duchy of Lancaster and it would all be lost in one generation. She rose and signed to Hettie to gather their outer garments.
“Thank you all for giving thought to aiding my family,” she said. “It comforts me greatly to have made such warm friends. Allow us to take our leave. I must prepare to return home, too. I must speak to our boatmen about taking us upstream to meet the northern coaches.”
“Don’t lose hope,” Rita said, giving her a warm hug.
“Hope we have in plenty,” Margaret said, as Andrew Short arrived on the doorstep to escort her and Lady Ann to the gate. “I thank you all.”
* * *
“Did you hear that?” Tom said, as the door closed behind the visitors. He had to force himself to keep his voice low. “She knows boatmen. And hauliers has to be the same as teamsters. Harry is looking for a large boat and wagons. She could hire them for us!”
“No!” Melissa declared, flatly. “We don’t want her involved. This is going to be a massive and dangerous operation, and one that will be considered treason. Everyone who is helping us already risks torture or hanging. The least that Cork will do would be to confiscate her father’s estates. Those are already at stake because of the tax burden. The king’s a terrible money manager. It’s in our history books. I don’t want that poor girl thrown in prison. It won’t be as comfortable as we’ve had it. Don’t ask her!”
“You’re right, Tom,” Rita said, cutting off Melissa’s protest. “Have her make the connection to the right people, and Harry will do the rest.” She smiled brightly. “I think that’s worth three hundred pounds, don’t you?”
“Harry won’t like shelling out that kind of money,” Tom said.
“He made plenty on his illicit art sale,” Melissa said, with some asperity. “He can spare a share for a good cause.”