Page 4 of A Column of Fire

He could not deceive her. ‘I went to the Fitzgerald house as well,’ he said. He saw a brief look of disappointment flash across her face, and he said: ‘I hope you don’t mind that I went there first.’

‘A little,’ she admitted. ‘But I should remember what it’s like to be young and in love.’

She was forty-eight. After Edmund died, everyone had said she should marry again, and little Ned, eight years old, had been terrified that he would get a cruel stepfather. But she had been a widow for ten years now, and he guessed she would stay single.

Ned said: ‘Rollo told me that Margery is going to marry Bart Shiring.’

‘Oh, dear. I was afraid of that. Poor Ned. I’m so sorry.’

‘Why does her father have the right to tell her who to marry?’

‘Fathers expect some degree of control. Your father and I didn’t have to worry about that. I never had a daughter . . . who lived.’

Ned knew that. His mother had given birth to two girls before Barney. Ned was familiar with the two little tombstones in the graveyard on the north side of Kingsbridge Cathedral.

He said: ‘A woman has to love her husband. You wouldn’t have forced a daughter to marry a brute like Bart.’

‘No, I suppose I wouldn’t.’

‘What is wrong with those people?’

‘Sir Reginald believes in hierarchies and authority. As mayor, he thinks an alderman’s job is to make decisions and then enforce them. When your father was mayor he said that aldermen should rule the town by serving it.’

Ned said impatiently: ‘That sounds like two ways of looking at the same thing.’

‘It’s not, though,’ said his mother. ‘It’s two different worlds.’

*

‘IWILL NOTmarry Bart Shiring!’ said Margery Fitzgerald to her mother.

Margery was upset and angry. For twelve months she had been waiting for Ned to return, thinking about him every day, longing to see his wry smile and golden-brown eyes; and now she had learned, from the servants, that he was back in Kingsbridge, and he had come to the house, but they had not told her, and he had gone away! She was furious at her family for deceiving her, and she wept with frustration.

‘I’m not asking you to marry Viscount Shiring today,’ said Lady Jane. ‘Just go and talk to him.’

They were in Margery’s bedroom. In one corner was a prie-dieu, a prayer desk, where she knelt twice a day, facing the crucifix on the wall, and counted her prayers with the help of a string of carved ivory beads. The rest of the room was all luxury: a four-poster bed with a feather mattress and richly coloured hangings; a big carved-oak chest for her many dresses; a tapestry of a forest scene.

This room had seen many arguments with her mother over the years. But Margery was a woman now. She was petite, but a little taller and heavier than her tiny, fierce mother; and she felt it was no longer a foregone conclusion that the fight would end in victory for Lady Jane and humiliation for Margery.

Margery said: ‘What’s the point? He’s come here to court me. If I talk to him, he’ll feel encouraged. And then he’ll be even angrier when he realizes the truth.’

‘You can be polite.’

Margery did not want to talk about Bart. ‘How could you not tell me that Ned was here?’ she said. ‘That was dishonest.’

‘I didn’t know until he’d gone! Only Rollo saw him.’

‘Rollo was doing your will.’

‘Children should do their parents’ will,’ her mother said. ‘You know the commandment: “Honour thy father and mother”. It’s your duty to God.’

All her short life Margery had struggled with this. She knew that God wished her to be obedient, but she had a wilful and rebellious nature – as she had so often been told – and she found it extraordinarily difficult to be good. However, when this was pointed out to her, she always suppressed her nature and became compliant. God’s will was more important than anything else, she knew that. ‘I’m sorry, Mother,’ she said.

‘Go and talk to Bart,’ said Lady Jane.

‘Very well.’

‘Just comb your hair, dear.’