The Mistress And The Merchant

He sounded, she thought, exactly as a lawyer would sound. Rigidly formal. And if she had not already heard him speak, she would think this was how he would always be, in professional mode, utterly convincing. Was he speaking the truth? Leon had said nothing of this to her. Or had he, when she was not listening? What was more, she knew, as did Signor Datini, that Master Pearce was not speaking the truth when he appeared to be claiming that Sandrock Mill was his. The miller might have tried to short-change her over his rent, but she knew he would not have paid her at all if this man had been his landlord instead of her.

‘Is that so?’ said Master Pearce, already removing the books from the corners of the map. ‘Well then, perhaps we should leave this for another occasion. These things can get incredibly complicated, can’t they?’ He let the roll spring back into his hands.

‘And I shall have to unearth the priory’s map, shan’t I, to be sure of getting it right?’ Aphra said.

‘Excellent,’ said Santo, smiling his satisfied merchant’s smile. ‘That should leave us in no doubt about who owns what. Don’t you agree, Master Pearce?’

‘Indeed. Now, if you will excuse me, mistress, I must attend to my duties.’ He bowed, curtly, pausing on the top step to look directly at the Italian. ‘Have you really come all the way from Italy, signor, to assist Mistress Betterton?’

There was only the merest fraction of a delay in Santo’s answer. ‘Wouldn’t you?’ he said.

If there had been any doubt in the elder man’s mind about the Italian’s expectations here at Sandrock, they were dispelled by that reply. He turned, disappearing an inch at a time.

Aphra smoothed a hand over the tooled leather bindings of the nearest book as if to comfort it. ‘He’s been here almost every day since I arrived. I don’t like him,’ she whispered. ‘I wish he would stay away.’

‘And would you have signed?’

She shook her head. ‘Probably not. But he would have stayed and talked till kingdom come to convince me.’ She smiled at Santo’s shout of laughter.

‘Your idiomatic English,’ he said. ‘I shall never get used to it.’

‘But your knowledge of English law?’ she said, quietly. ‘Was that a bluff?’

‘Bluff?’ he said, twitching his eyebrows.

‘Pretence,’ she replied.

‘Ah...bluff. Yes, a little. But I’d wager I know more about English property law than he does.’

‘Or his lawyer?’

‘Argh! He’ll not have a lawyer. He’d have to pay him, wouldn’t he?’

‘So shall I, signor, for your professional assistance and I cannot afford you. You may as well go home.’

He tilted his head this way and that to catch her eye, without success, and he could tell that she was in no mood for a confrontation, just as she had not wanted to deal with Master Pearce’s claims. He chose to ignore the command. ‘May I sit?’ he said, purposely distancing himself from that man’s appallingly bad manners.

‘Please do,’ she said, seating herself on the other side of the table. ‘Are you really a merchant, signor? Or was that a pretence, too?’

‘I am indeed, mistress. Did my brother not tell you?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said, looking at the table between them. ‘I don’t remember what he told me. I’m trying not to remember. I don’t want to remember.’ Her voice shook.

‘No, I can understand that. But be assured that what I tell you will always be the truth.’

‘Forgive me, signor,’ she said, ‘if I regard that with scepticism. My belief in men’s words is at a low ebb. Your brother lied to me and so might you be doing for all I know. Since then, I’ve learnt to believe very little and to trust no man.’

‘Then listen to me, madonna, if you will. As a newcomer to land ownership and to the sharp practices of others, like him, for example, you may find yourself in need of a man like me who can speak with some authority. A man who has your interests at heart and for no ulterior motive.’

‘That sounds too good to be true, signor, but I’ve already said I cannot afford you.’

‘I’m not looking for payment, only for your friendship, since I cannot be of any help to you unless we are friends, at least.’

‘At least? What does that mean, exactly?’

Saints alive, he thought, she’s as prickly as a holly bush.

‘Trust,’ he said. ‘I suppose it means you must trust me. After your experience, you find that difficult. But if you could perhaps try to see things from my point of view, my offer of help is to make up, in part, for my brother’s failings. It’s something I want to do for you, to help you through your grief, to make these first few months less difficult. It will cost you nothing, except perhaps a meal now and then.’

By the time he had finished explaining to her, her hands were covering her face, her shoulders shaking with sobs, and soft mewing sounds were sifting through her fingers, dripping with tears. He sat in silence without moving, knowing that this would not be the last time she would weep for her losses. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her safe against the world, to shield her from more harm, to heal the wounds caused by his brother whose foolishness he could understand but never condone. And then there was this charismatic man called Ben. Had she come up here to this room to find comfort in his workplace? How close had they been?

The weeping was brought under control soon enough, followed by a whispered apology. He was quick to put her mind at rest. ‘Think nothing of it,’ he said. With her knuckles she wiped the tears from her face and pushed a strand of damp hair away into the thick plait that hung down her back, revealing the fine bones, the high cheeks and delicate ears, the delicious tilt of the nose and well-defined mouth, the graceful sweep of her throat and neck. Yesterday’s faded old clothes had been replaced by a plain bodice and skirt of dull rose pink over a white chemise, the lacy top of which could just be seen at the neckline. Santo thought of all the women who had wept in his presence, but could recall not one as exquisitely lovely as Aphra Betterton. ‘Do you know where we might look for a map of Sandrock?’ he said. ‘If we both knew exactly where the priory land lies and who rents it, we shall have the advantage of Master Pearce. Do you agree?’ For a moment, he thought she might insist on going it alone, that pride might get in the way of common sense, which would be a pity.

Her eyes rested on his face, then on his hands and back again to his eyes to find that essential element of honesty. ‘But there will be questions,’ she said. ‘Village gossip. That man will already be telling all he meets about Mistress Betterton’s Italian assistant.’ This was a conversation she preferred not to have. Ignoring her parents’ advice to wait, she had come to Sandrock alone to take advantage of the seclusion where the only decisions to be taken concerned the running of the household and gardens and the direction Ben would have wanted her to take in recording his plant collection. Relatives she had aplenty. Relationships she did not want. Especially not from the same quarter as the previous one and its disastrous consequence. And after their short and decisive meeting yesterday, why had this man returned to offer help when she had already made it clear what she felt about that?

Yet look how efficiently he had dealt with the problem of Master Pearce. How comforting it had been to have the Italian merchant there to speak with a man’s authority and without the condescending argument that would surely have followed if she had tackled the man on her own. She knew about merchants. Her cousin Etta was married to one. Hard-dealing, worldly, tough and knowledgeable, and difficult to shake off when they saw something they wanted. So what did the man want? Her trust in men had fallen to rock-bottom since Leon’s departure and his inexplicable change of heart. Now, the appearance of his elder brother, capable, handsome and more mature than he, threatened to disturb the cocoon of pain she had built around herself. With that in place, she could keep everyone out and fuel her reasons not to trust, not to make herself accessible, not to welcome any man’s company for whatever reason. Now it looked as if she was being manoeuvred into accepting him as an assistant, which she knew she needed, right here where they would be obliged to meet on most days. What madness was that?

She sighed, thinking of the effort she would have to make.

‘Madonna,’ he said, gently.

‘What?’ Her head was turned away, trying to avoid seeing him.

‘I understand your problem.’

‘How can you possibly understand?’ she replied. Pushing herself away from the table, she walked to the window to the medley of greens seen through panes of rippling glass. ‘I wanted to be here on my own and now look what’s happened after only a couple of weeks. Anyone would think I’d had no experience of handling estate matters when in fact I’ve assisted my mother for years while Father was away in London. I was sure Sandrock would be the same, that there’d be nothing here I’d not know how to deal with, and now all this nonsense of my neighbour wanting my mill, a dishonest steward and probably much more, for all I know.’

‘Your steward is dishonest?’

‘Oh...’ She shrugged. ‘He’s hiding the accounts from me. I’m assuming...’

‘I’d soon deal with that problem, mistress.’

‘Needing help was never part of my plan. You were not part of my plan either, signor. You are the brother of the man whose deception has cast a blight on my life.’ Aphra was not usually given to dramatics, but now she turned from the window to face him with her arms thrown out wide as if to demonstrate the enormity of her folly.

‘Then try looking at it another way, mistress, if you will.’

‘I don’t want to look at it another way. There isn’t another way.’

‘There is,’ he said, struggling to hide his smile. ‘You simply think of me as your assistant instead of...’

‘You see?’ she yelped. ‘That’s exactly what I mean. Try to forget you are his brother. That’s what you were about to say, isn’t it? As if I could. As if I have not tried and tried to put him out of my thoughts. He was here, in this room, and Ben, too. I see them walking through the doors, in the gardens, the library, the church. They are everywhere and I thought that my being here would help me to lose them at my own pace. Slowly. It was the suddenness,’ she whispered, ‘that was so unfair.’

He nodded in sympathy. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘but, you know, in my experience it sometimes happens that what one thinks of at first as a hindrance...’

‘Like you.’

‘...like me, can become quite the opposite if you give it a chance. This situation was not planned by either of us. I thought you’d be living with your parents, not managing this great place on your own. You didn’t know I’d be sent to England to offer some help to the woman my brother loves, but what a folly it would be to refuse that help rather than to make use of it.’