London - Edward Rutherfurd [172]
And then she realized she had never seen his body before. She had thought of him as tall and thin, but here, laughing merrily and casting the tattered cassock from him, was an athletic, well-built man as perfectly proportioned as any she had seen. With a recognition that hit her suddenly and almost physically, she murmured: “Lord God but he’s beautiful.”
For the first time in her life, Sister Mabel experienced physical desire. She knew it was the Devil who sent it. She prayed night and day. She tried to close her mind to the man under the cassock, but what could she do? She was with him every day. For three weeks, to the exclusion of almost everything else, she was aware of his physical presence: the sound of his footfall, the smell of the sweat on the cuffs of his habit; the often matted fringe of hair on his tonsured head. Then even this seemed to merge into a more general love for him that was so intense she caught her breath if he even came into the room. Now, finding herself completely powerless before this engulfing emotion, she had gone to confess.
Beneath one of the dark, soaring arches of St Paul’s, therefore, a rather surprised young priest asked her: “Has anything taken place?”
“No, Father,” she answered sadly.
“Pray to our Blessed Mother the Virgin Mary,” he told her, “and know in your heart that you will not sin.”
But here she surprised him. For, devout though she was, Mabel had the practical sense of those who treat the sick. “That’s no good,” she answered, “because I probably shall.” Which left the young priest, despite himself, somewhat curious as to what would happen next.
For three desperate days Ida tried to avoid her marriage. In her eyes, her fate was truly appalling. It was not just that Bull was heavy, coarse and a complete stranger. It would have been just as bad if she had liked him. The chief cause of her agony was purer than mere personality: Sampson Bull was of the wrong class.
It was termed disparagement, this forced marriage of heiresses and widows to men of lower rank: a magnate’s daughter to a middling baron, a baron’s to a humble knight, or even, as with Ida, a modest knight’s daughter to a rich merchant. Nothing, in her world, could be worse. It was humiliating.
She went to the Exchequer and saw the justiciar himself, but no one was interested. Had she no powerful friends?
There was one, slim chance. The squat little western fort by Ludgate known as Baynard’s Castle had long been held by the powerful feudal family of Fitzwalter, and to the Fitzwalters she could claim – just – a family connection. It was very distant, but it was all she had. So she went there.
The young knight who spoke with her was polite. The lord was busy. She explained that she was his kinswoman and that the matter was urgent. He advised her to come back in an hour. After going to St Bride’s to pray, she duly returned, to be told, apologetically: “The Lord Fitzwalter has gone out.” The next day she saw only the doorkeeper, who also advised her to return. This time she waited near the entrance, but an hour later was again told that she had just missed him. Clearly her kinsman had no need of poor relations. She had lost.
The ceremony took place in St Mary-le-Bow. It was mercifully brief. Only the family attended and Ida was glad enough to return quietly to the Bull house afterwards.
Once there she took stock of her situation.