The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [223]
Other matters, however, were not so settled. Money was always a problem. None of her Puritan sons-in-law was rich and with the new regime there wasn’t a chance of preferment. ‘And because I’m a woman,’ she told her family frankly, ‘men always think they can cheat me.’
There was the Christchurch merchant who had owed money to John Lisle, although he denied it; there were the Lisle relations on the Isle of Wight, withholding part of her stepson’s inheritance – they were still trying to wriggle out of that. When the Christchurch merchant told her she was a peevish, troublesome woman she had coldly demanded: ‘And if I weren’t, would you pay me what you owe? Would you feed and clothe my children? I think not. First you try to rob them,’ she told him scornfully, ‘then you call me names if I complain.’ She had learned to be tough.
‘No one is going to love me,’ she had remarked to Hancock the lawyer, ‘but perhaps they will respect me.’
She looked at the three people before her now. Whitaker: handsome, honest, a fine man, but not a man of business. Tryphena: her husband was no fool, but he was away in London. Narrow-faced Tryphena herself was a good woman and a loyal daughter, but even now, in her thirties, she was as literal as a child; the idea of being subtle, or even tactful, had simply never crossed her mind. John Hancock the lawyer, however, had good judgement. With his neatly curled grey hair and his stately manners, he should really have gone to practise in London, but he preferred to live down near Sarum. Like all good advocates he understood that the law is a negotiation and that indirect means are as good as direct. It was to John Hancock that she would listen.
‘You really think I should go and see the king?’
‘Yes, I do. For the simple reason that you have nothing to lose.’
Alice sighed. The problem involved no less a personage than the king’s brother James, Duke of York. In this case it was Alice who was defending herself against the charge of withholding money. For after being given part of John Lisle’s forfeited estate, the duke had somehow become convinced that Alice was secreting some of Lisle’s money, to which he was entitled. He had even started a lawsuit against her, which had already dragged on for some years.
‘I think that the Duke of York, who is an honest but obstinate man, really believes you are secreting this money and that if he were convinced you were suffering hardship, he would drop the case,’ Hancock explained. ‘He is of the opinion that you are cheating him because you are John Lisle’s widow. The king is a much easier man than his brother. If you can convince him, he would persuade James. At least you should try. You owe it to little Betty.’
‘Ah. You hit me there, John Hancock.’
‘I know. I am ruthless.’ He smiled. Betty, playing outside: the threat of the duke’s lawsuit was a cloud over her future fortune.
‘I know why you are unwilling to go,’ Whitaker remarked amiably. ‘It’s the king’s reputation with women. You fear he’ll make an attempt upon your virtue.’
‘Yes, Robert,’ Alice said drily. ‘Of course.’
‘I hardly think’ – Tryphena had been listening carefully and now she frowned – ‘that the king would make any attempt upon Mother. His interest is only in women who are young and beautiful.’
So it was agreed that Alice should go and that she should take little Betty with her. ‘Perhaps’, Alice said wryly, ‘the sight of the child may soften the king’s heart, even if the sight of me is unlikely to excite him.’
While Tryphena prepared the girl for her outing, Alice did, all the same, take some trouble over her own appearance so that, as she surveyed herself in the glass, she could murmur a little wistfully: ‘John Lisle didn’t marry such an ill-looking woman, at least.’
It was noon when they left Albion House and started up the lane that led northwards towards the small ford. They missed their visitor, approaching from the south, by only a few minutes.
Gabriel Furzey rode slowly through