Page 47 of The Forgotten
“I hope your trip was a success,” Petra said. Thomas had returned only last night and hadn’t had the chance to tell her what happened during his travels.
“It was very successful,” Lady Blythe interjected. “Thomas talked circles around those dumb farmers. Didn’t you, son?”
Thomas seemed annoyed with his mother, but rearranged his face into an expression of civility and replied, “Yes, it was a success. I was able to retain most of our suppliers, save for two, who thought that selling to Master Nevins this year would be worth the risk. I wished them good fortune in their endeavors, and we parted ways on good terms.”
“More the fool, you,” Lady Blythe cut in again. “You should have taken them to task and reminded them how much this family had done for them. Your father lifted those peasants out of abject poverty when he offered them decent prices for their wool and made good on his promise to purchase from them year after year. They owe us not only their livelihoods, but their very lives.”
“I think that’s overstating it a bit, Mother,” Thomas said. “Anyhow, I have no wish to talk business at the dinner table. I’ve done enough of that during the past three weeks. Mistress Ordell, how is your family? I hear your son is to be apprenticed to the scribes at Greyfriars. What a marvelous opportunity.”
“A man should do man’s work,” Lady Blythe grumbled, her mouth full.
“Not if he can do God’s work, Lady Blythe,” Petra retorted, thoroughly annoyed with the woman.
“Sharpening quills is God’s work now, is it?”
“Well, I’ve eaten my fill,” Thomas said and pushed away his plate. “Mistress Ordell, would you join me for a walk? It’s a fine day, and I think my mother is ready for a rest. She seems unusually snappish today. Due to fatigue, no doubt,” he added in response to his mother’s sharp glance.
“Do not presume to shut me up, boy. I don’t pay Mistress Ordell to go prancing about with my son,” Lady Blythe countered, but was ignored.
“Come, let’s put some color in those cheeks,” Thomas said as he took Petra’s hand. “Nan, see to my mother until Petra returns,” he ordered the servant, not even sparing her a glance.
“I think she hates me,” Petra said as Thomas helped her on with her cloak.
“Don’t give it another thought,” Thomas replied, smiling into her eyes.
Easy for you to say, Petra thought but smiled back and tied the cloak’s strings beneath her chin before accepting Thomas’s arm and stepping out into the mild February afternoon. It felt wonderful to be outside during the day. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to be out during the daylight hours. Petra inhaled deeply, enjoying the tang of the sea and the brisk spring air. The normally gray waters of the North Sea sparkled in the afternoon sunshine, seagulls wheeling overhead as they dove for fish. The docks bustled with activity. Several ships were in the process of being outfitted for the first voyage of the spring, and men called out to each other cheerfully as they went about their business. Several women passed by, chatting easily as they returned from the market, baskets slung over their arms. Some merchants lowered their prices toward the late afternoon, eager to sell off their daily inventory, so many thrifty wives waited until later in the day to do their marketing. The leftover produce and cuts of meat were not as fresh after sitting in the stall since the early hours, but in the colder months, it was safe enough to wait.
Thomas turned Petra away from the center of town and began to walk in the direction of Blackfriars. The street grew less crowded, allowing them to have a private conversation.
“Petra, which church do you attend?” Thomas asked, as they walked past the harbor. He did not take her arm, since that wouldn’t be proper, but he walked closer to her than was strictly necessary, inviting the curious looks of passersby.
“St. Leonard’s,” Petra replied, wondering why he wished to know.
“I thought I might join you for Sunday Mass. Meet your family,” he suggested. He was still smiling, but his eyes were anxious, waiting for her to reply.
“If you wish it, Thomas. My mother and children would be honored to make your acquaintance,” she replied. This was it. If she refused to allow him to come to Mass and meet her family, he’d take it as a rejection of his proposal, leaving her at the mercy of Lady Blythe, who would instantly dismiss her and probably spread the word that she’d stolen something, or gave offense in some other way, therefore preventing anyone else from giving her honest employment.
“I’ve asked my mother to accompany me on Sunday. That’s how hopeful I was that you wouldn’t object,” he said, grinning broadly. “I’d even offered to hire a litter for her, since it’s too far to walk.”
Petra smiled. “I fear to ask what her reaction was. She’s very openly against our union.”
“I am perfectly capable of using my legs,” Thomas said, doing a credible impersonation of his mother. “And why should I attend a different church after decades of praying at St. Martin’s?”
Petra laughed, and Thomas laughed with her, his happiness making him look a decade younger as he gazed at her. He was amused by his mother’s rebuke and indifferent to her opinion.He’d married a woman of her choosing once, and he wasn’t about to do so a second time. And marry he would.
“Petra, I brought you a small gift. I hope you will accept it as a token of my affection,” Thomas said as he reached into the pocket of his breeches. He drew out a small leather pouch and held it out to Petra, like a child bringing his mother a spring flower that he picked just for her.
Petra accepted the pouch and held it in her hand for a moment before opening it, enjoying the feel of smooth leather and the promise of the solid object within. Her heart thudded with nervousness and excitement. No one had ever given her a gift before. Cyril had paid for things that were necessary, but he’d never bought her presents. He thought that trinkets were frivolous and a waste of good money, which could be spent on more important things, such as tankards of ale at the tavern. Petra opened the pouch with trembling hands and drew out a small bird. It was crafted of silver, the detail so exquisite that it looked as if it might spread its wings and take flight. The eyes were made of sapphires and there were several tiny rubies twinkling in the plumage of its tail.
“It’s a clasp for your cloak,” Thomas explained. “May I put it on for you?”
Petra nodded as tears pricked her eyes. He was so kind, and so generous. But would it last?
“It’s exquisite,” she breathed. “Thank you.”
“A bird is a symbol of freedom,” Thomas said, as he deftly pinned the clasp to her cloak. “I wanted to reassure you that you will not lose yours if you agree to marry me. I have no wish to own you, Petra. I’m at a point in my life where I wish for companionship and affection, not blind obedience.”
“Did your wife give you blind obedience?” Petra asked, curious about Thomas’s marriage. He never spoke of his wife, or even his daughter, who expressed little desire to see him since her marriage.
