Page 19 of The Lovers
“Were you not invited to the wedding?”
“No.”
“But ye have seen ’er?” Molly persisted. “Ye must ’ave.”
“Yes, I’ve seen her.”
“What is it, James? Ye are not usually so tight-lipped. What’s ’appened?”
James gave up his position by the wall and sat down on the trunk, suddenly tired. Molly was the only person in the world he could share his troubles with, but they were nothing compared with her own. She’d lost a baby boy only a year ago, and now Harry seemed to be showing the same symptoms. The girls were hale and hearty, but the boys were weak and lacking in appetite. James knew that Molly was a lot more frightened than she was letting on. Here, in Blackfriars, there wasn’t a family that hadn’t lost a child or two, but knowing that others had endured the same kind of suffering didn’t make it any easier when it happened to you.
“Come, Jamie. Tell me.” Molly only called him by that name when she wanted to remind him of her status as big sister, even though she was only two years older than him.
“I’ve lain with her,” James finally choked out, too ashamed to look Molly in the face.
“Who?”
“Father’s new wife.”
“What?” Molly stared at him open-mouthed, unsure of whether to be amused or horrified by this bit of news. “Why would ye do a thing like that?”
“He asked me to. He wants a son.”
“’E has a son,” Molly replied bitterly. “You are ’is son.”
“I’m a bastard, Moll. He’ll never recognize me as his own.”
“Ye know my opinion on the subject,” Molly replied curtly. She’d voiced it often enough.
“Yes.”
“So, he expects ye to lie with ’is wife, get ’er with child, then just step aside and pretend the babe ’as nothing to do with ye? How convenient. But then, that’s what ’e’d done all those years ago, so it must seem natural to ’im.”
“He took care of us, Moll.”
“’E farmed us out the day after our mother died and never enquired as to ’ow we were. ’E never even bothered to name ye or have ye baptized. For nearly thirteen years, neither one of us knew we ’ad a father, until ’e decided ’e might have some use for ye after all.”
Molly was still bitter after all these years, but James didn’t blame her. She’d been only two when their mother died bringing him into the world. No one had spoken to Molly or comforted her besides the elderly cook, who took pity on the child, but there was no kin for the children to go to, so Molly and James might have been left to perish had it not been for Edward Asher. James knew the truth; their mother had pleaded with Edward as she lay dying that he would look after his children. James supposed that Edward was too afraid to go back on his promise to a dying woman for fear of offending God, but he never so much as said a word to his daughter or looked at his son.
The children had been sent off to Kent to Cook’s childless cousin and her husband, who took them in and raised them, glad of the added income that Lord Asher provided for the children’s upkeep. He sent money once a year but never made contact with his children, not until James turned thirteen, and even then, he’d only been interested in the boy. Molly had been turned out, being of an age to marry or find employment. She married Peter, the carpenter’s son, and they moved to London in the hope of a better life. There wasn’t much work for two carpenters in the small village where they lived. Peter was a talented man, and now, morethan a decade later, he’d made a name for himself and even enjoyed commissions from the palace.
Molly hated their father with a vehemence born of rejection and indifference, and she chided James every time she saw him for allowing Edward to manipulate him. James nodded and agreed for the sake of keeping the peace between them, but Molly didn’t quite understand his predicament as well as she thought. By the time their father had finished paying for their upkeep, Molly and Peter had already been courting. She was nearly sixteen and of marrying age. James strongly suspected that she’d already been carrying Elizabeth by the time the two said their vows in the village church. He had just turned thirteen and was facing an uncertain future. Master and Mistress Dawson had been kind to him and Molly and had provided them with security and stability when they needed it most, but they had no obligation to him beyond that which they’d been paid for.
Edward had never made provisions for apprenticing James, nor had he made any monetary arrangements for his future. On Master Dawson’s instructions, James made his way to London and presented himself to Edward, who’d been expecting him. His father sized James up as he stood meekly in front of him, praying that the man wouldn’t throw him out into the street to fend for himself. James had always been taller and bigger than most boys his age, and for once, his size worked in his favor.
“I have need of a man-at-arms, James,” his father said thoughtfully. “These are uncertain times, and a man is never too cautious to seek protection, especially when he finds himself at odds with the politics of his country.”
James didn’t know much of Edward’s politics, or politics in general, but assumed that his father was not a supporter of Oliver Cromwell and his ill-fated Commonwealth. Master Dawson was a staunch Royalist who fought in the Civil War and had beenseverely wounded in the leg. He would have died had he not been nursed back to health by a farmer’s daughter who came across him in a field. Master Dawson rewarded his savior by marrying her, so the arrangement worked out nicely for them both. He spoke to James often, especially when in his cups, of the people’s desire to restore the rightful king to the throne. Perhaps James’s father felt the same.
“Do you know how to wield a sword, James?” Edward asked. James didn’t, but he wasn’t about to say so. He’d learn. He was a quick study.
“You will be instructed in the art of swordplay. I think you’ll do quite well. What say you?”
“Thank you, your lordship. I’m happy to accept your offer,” James replied, feeling a surge of hope. His father wanted him by his side, and if James proved himself, perhaps they might forge a relationship after all, and he and Molly would have someone to rely on besides themselves. Their father paid the Dawsons to have them looked after, so perhaps now that they were nearing adulthood, he would finally treat them as his kin.
Edward must have guessed something of James’s thoughts, or maybe he’d anticipated the sense of hope that his offer would inspire in his bastard son. He took James by the chin and forced the boy to meet his gaze. “I am offering you a place in my household, but you must remember your place, James. No one is to know of your relationship to me, least of all my wife, and to ensure that, you must never speak of it. Servants gossip, and if you tell a single soul, and I discover your perfidy, you will be cast out. Make no mistake.”
Edward let go of James and stood back, head tilted to the side as if he were gazing at a painting, hard-pressed to decide whether it pleased him or not. “You do have the look of yourmother about you,” he finally said. “She was a lovely girl. Taken too soon.”
