Page 95 of The Armor of Light
He was softening, Hornbeam thought, but the son was an obstacle.
A young woman came into the room, expensively dressed in riding costume, with a pretty little hat. She curtsied to the earl and said: ‘I apologize for interrupting you, Uncle, but the riding party is waiting for my cousin Henry.’
Northwood stood up. ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Miranda. An important conversation...’ He was clearly reluctant to leave.
But the earl said: ‘You’re excused, Henry. Thank you for your help.’
Hornbeam realized that the woman was Henry’s cousin Miranda Littlehampton. It was said that they were unofficially engaged. Hornbeam was no expert on romance, but it seemed to him that Miranda was keener than Henry.
However, Henry left, and that was a stroke of luck for Hornbeam.
‘Pretty girl,’ said Riddick admiringly.
Shut up, you fool, Hornbeam thought. The earl doesn’t want your approval for his future daughter-in-law. Hastily he said: ‘I thank your lordship for receiving me and Squire Riddick today. We both appreciate the privilege, and we know this conversation has been of the highest importance to your county and especially the city of Kingsbridge.’
It was pure flannel, but it moved the earl’s attention from Riddick’s crass remark about Miranda. ‘Yes,’ the earl said. ‘I thank you for bringing this to my notice. I think I must do as you suggest, and tell Drinkwater it’s time for him to retire.’
Ah, success, thought Hornbeam with profound satisfaction, keeping his face woodenly expressionless.
‘I’ll write to Drinkwater,’ the earl went on.
Hornbeam said eagerly: ‘If you would like me to deliver the letter...’
‘I think not,’ the earl said severely. ‘Drinkwater might take that as a discourtesy. I’ll give the letter to Northwood.’
Hornbeam realized he had been too hasty in his triumph. ‘Yes, my lord, of course, foolish of me.’
‘I imagine you’re keen to get back on the road. It’s a long ride to Kingsbridge.’
The earl’s tone did not invite discussion. And he was not going to ask his visitors to stay for dinner. Hornbeam stood up. ‘With your permission, my lord, we’ll take our leave.’
The earl reached for a bell pull, and a minute later a footman appeared. Hornbeam and Riddick bowed and went into the hall. The earl did not follow.
They put on their coats and stepped outside. Hornbeam’s carriage was waiting, glistening with rain. They got inside and the horses pulled away.
Riddick said: ‘I have to hand it to you, Hornbeam, you’re a clever swine.’
‘Yes,’ said Hornbeam, ‘I know.’
17
THE HANDS WERE PAIDon Saturday afternoon at five o’clock, when work stopped at the mills. Although they all worked set hours, the amount they got paid depended on how much yarn they had made. Sal and Kit usually produced enough to earn about twelve shillings. Three years ago this would have made her feel rich but, since then, bad harvests had pushed up the price of food and war taxes had made other necessities dearer. Now twelve shillings would barely last the week.
Sal and Joanie immediately went to pay their rent, trudging through a drizzling rain, trailed by Kit and Sue. A home with a fireplace was even more important than food. You would die of cold faster than you would starve to death. Getting into arrears with rent was the first step on the downward slope to utter destitution.
Their house was owned by the cathedral, but the rent office was in the poor neighbourhood where they lived. Their rent was a shilling a week, and Sal paid five of the twelve pence, as she occupied a bit less than half the building. They handed over their money then walked to the marketplace. It was already dark, but the stalls were bright with lamplight.
Sal asked a baker for a standard four-pound loaf, and he said: ‘That will be one shilling and two pence.’
Sal was outraged. ‘It was a shilling and a penny yesterday – and seven pence only a year ago!’
The baker looked weary, as if he had been listening to the samelament all day. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘And flour used to be thirteen shillings a sack, and now it’s twenty-six. What am I supposed to do? If I sell below cost I’ll be broke in a week.’
Sal was sure he was exaggerating, but all the same she saw his point. She bought a loaf, and Joanie did the same, but what would they do if it went up more?
This was not just a Kingsbridge problem. Spade said it was happening all over the country. In some towns women had rioted, often starting at the door of a shop.
In the indoor market on the south side of the cathedral was a butcher with a mouthwatering display – joints of beef, pork and mutton – but it was all too dear. Sal looked for pheasant or partridge, skinny game birds with chewy meat that would have to be stewed. They were usually available at this time of year, but today there were none. ‘It’s the weather,’ said the butcher. ‘These dark, rainy days the woodsmen can’t see the birds, let alone catch the buggers.’
