Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [302]
She rose to greet him. The young man she loved. She smiled. She took a step towards him, expecting at least a kiss. But to her surprise, he made no move towards her at all. He stood where he was, his face strained, and his blue eyes gazing at her reproachfully.
“You gave my name.”
Of course she had. Weren’t they getting married? Wasn’t he supposed to protect her?
“They said they needed someone to answer for me.”
“I brought MacGowan.”
“So I see.” She nodded politely to the merchant. Why did he make her feel uncomfortable? Was it his searching eye? Or was it just the fact that he had the reputation of being clever, and she could never make out what he was thinking? Yet she knew that many people trusted MacGowan and went to him for advice.
“He has the freedom,” Tidy explained. Having the freedom of the city was an important matter of status in Dublin. Being a freeman of the city entitled you to vote for the city council, to trade freely without paying tolls, and even to trade with merchants from overseas. Henry Tidy, ready to set up on his own as a master craftsman, was due to be considered for the freedom quite soon; a committee of aldermen would decide whether it was granted or not. The fact that he had brought a freeman of the city with him now showed that, in his mind at least, this foolish arrest was a serious matter. MacGowan had already moved over to talk to the men who were sitting comfortably behind a trestle table. They seemed to treat him with more respect than they had used towards her. She heard them murmuring.
Meanwhile, Henry Tidy wasn’t being very nice. He was gazing at her as if there was something about the business that he couldn’t believe.
“How could you do it, Cecily? You know the law.” Of course she knew the law. But the arrest was absurd. Couldn’t he see that? “You know the law, Cecily.” He’d said it again. His attitude was starting to hurt her. Did he have to be so timid?
The men at the table had finished their conversation. She saw MacGowan nod. A moment later he came across and told her that she could leave. But when Tidy glanced at him questionably, MacGowan shook his head; and as soon as they were outside, he announced, “They won’t drop it.”
“What shall we do?” asked Tidy.
“My advice? We should go and see Doyle.”
“Doyle.” Tidy looked thoughtful. She knew that he had known the alderman slightly for many years, because he had told her about the fact with some pride. She also knew that Henry was in some awe of him. He turned to her. “I suppose,” he said doubtfully, “that you’d better come, too.”
She stared at him. That was all he had to say? Still not a word of sympathy? Did he really think this was all her fault?
His shoulders stooped forward slightly. She had never noticed it much before, except to think that it made him look determined. A sign of strength. Now she suddenly wondered: did it make him look like a hunchback? His little, pointed yellow beard jutted forward. It irritated her, though she couldn’t exactly say why.
“There’s no need,” she said abruptly. “I’m going home.” She turned and started to walk away.
And he didn’t even try to stop her.
The alderman’s house was close by. Doyle was out, but his wife was at home. So MacGowan left Tidy with her while he went to find the alderman.
Sitting in the alderman’s big house in the company of his attractive, Spanish-looking wife, Henry Tidy felt a little awkward at first. He had known Dame Doyle, as he respectfully referred to her, ever since he was an apprentice, and secretly he had always admired her; but he had never kept company in her house like this before. She was in her parlour, sitting quietly at her spinning wheel with one of her daughters; they did not talk much, but from time to time she would ask him a question, to which he would shyly reply. After a while, she sent her daughter out on an errand, so that he was alone with her. Then she gave him a kindly smile.
“You’re worried, aren’t you?”
It didn’t take long for him to confide in her. The trouble