That was the trouble, he knew, watching his wife as she watched other men. Everything he had done was intended to keep her as his own. He couldn’t risk losing her. The loss of prestige should she leave him was too appalling even to contemplate. But he couldn’t tolerate her flirting with other men, not even if that was the price he must pay for her continued company. Swallowing painfully, he viewed the future. Unless he could soon reveal his renewed financial status, she would leave him.
Then a new resolve stiffened his spine. There was no need for him to go on suffering this intolerable situation. Juliana’s stupid behaviour must improve soon. She would hardly go looking for another man to support her if she learned that her own husband was immensely wealthy again. That was the reason for her coldness recently – the belief that he was a failure. Well, soon he’d be able to show her – point to the large sums of money he’d acquired – and then she’d warm up towards him, she’d love him again as she had before.
Right now she was drooling over every available male in the area. It looked as though she was determined to find anyone who had money so that she could desert him. Any fellow with a well-filled purse would do, Nick thought cynically; she’d leap into his bed without compunction. There was nothing to hold her to Nick. Not while he was bankrupt. In Juliana’s mind, her marriage to Nick Karvinel was a financial transaction: he could possess her, provided that he gave her access to his money. While his finances were healthy, she was happy.
And, at this minute she was far from happy. His recent difficulties had turned her frigid, impervious to his needs. He could prove to her that he was strong, but there were risks: if she boasted about his money, others could get to hear. It was far too dangerous. No, he’d have to keep his secret hidden, even from her.
Especially from her.
Chapter Seventeen
In his thick cloak, Sir Thomas stood trying to keep out of the view of the general public. He couldn’t keep his hood up, for that would have appeared disrespectful in God’s house, so he partially concealed himself in shadows wherever he could away from the brightest candles. Then he caught sight of a figure he recognised: the Bailiff of the City, William de Lappeford. Sir Thomas retreated slightly. He knew de Lappeford only too well, and de Lappeford knew his description. All the officers involved in the law knew of Sir Thomas.
It was then that Hob gasped and pulled at his sleeve. ‘That’s them, Sir Thomas! Karvinel and his Lady.’
Following his pointing finger, Sir Thomas caught a fleeting glimpse of the couple. Although he had been responsible for stealing from the man, and even setting his house on fire, the outlaw had never actually seen his victim in the flesh. Fearing he might lose sight of them, Sir Thomas slipped away from his place of concealment and went up the side of the nave, his eye fixed upon the pair. The candles lit up his face a couple of times, but he didn’t care. He kept on going, resting at a pillar from where he had a good view of them.
And as he waited there, he saw Juliana’s gaze pass along the men at this side of the Cathedral, saw her notice him, look him over appraisingly. With a thrill of amusement Sir Thomas realised that her look was as blatant as a whore’s. Her husband didn’t look up: he was praying, Sir Thomas saw as he returned her smile. Karvinel was bending his head and murmuring quietly, crossing himself regularly.
‘As you should,’ Sir Thomas whispered to himself. ‘After you murdered Hamond.’
Brother Stephen watched the two Secondaries return to their places in the stalls. Adam stood facing him, while Jolinde was in the row immediately before him, and Stephen could look down upon his tonsured head.
The service was not as beautiful as that of the night before. The midnight ceremony, the Angel’s Mass of Christmas Eve, was intended to reinforce the notion that the light of salvation appeared at the darkest moment in the depths of winter, and because it was held by candlelight many people came to witness it, but fewer attended this, the Shepherd’s Mass. It was difficult to persuade people to go to any service at dawn, but today only the most determined and committed would come – especially if they had been up late the night before to attend the Angel’s Mass.
He sensed that the choir was lightening and glanced up, past the altar. Although there was a massive wooden partition to separate the nave from the new choir and high altar which were still being built, there were slats in the screen to allow the light to enter. In years to come he would be able to look up from his stall and behold the sunlight streaming in through the coloured glass panels of the new eastern window. He longed for that day. It would be a wonderful sight. Once he had seen it, he could die happily, for then he would know that his most important work, that of ensuring that the Cathedral could afford to pay for this rebuilding, would be almost done.
So many years of effort. Stephen sighed inwardly as he thought about it. The man with the vision had been the first Bishop Walter – Bishop Bronescombe. It was said that he had had the idea while attending the consecration of Salisbury Cathedral. That was in 1258, more than sixty years ago, and so far only the new choir’s external works had been finished. There was still at least another five or six years’ work in fittings: the reredos, the new Bishop’s throne, the pulpitum and the sedilia. Until they were all completed, the choir would remain out here in the ancient Norman nave, often singing in the dark, all waiting for the time when they could migrate beyond the wooden fence that kept them from the new building. And then all the services could be held in there, while this, the oldest remaining part of the church itself, could be razed to the ground – well, to the window sills, anyway – before being built up, layer on layer, in the new style. It would be at least another sixty years before the project was complete.
But Stephen would have succeeded in completing his task if the works could progress during and after his life. It was his duty to ensure that the funds were there.
Of course, Bishop Walter Stapledon was a good financial bulwark against the problems which invariably occurred. He took as much interest in the rebuilding as Stephen himself, walking about under the gantries and scaffoldings with the eye of a man used to overseeing such works. Stapledon had already contributed much of his own money to building a school in Exeter and a college in Oxford, for he was firmly convinced of the importance of education. He believed that all his priests should receive constant training, and he was committed to finding the best scholars from all over Devon and giving them the benefit of a true education. To Stephen’s knowledge, Walter Stapledon was the most widely travelled Bishop the Chapter had ever possessed, constantly on the move and dropping in on all the parishes within his See. He took such matters seriously, for how could a Bishop be sure that the poor souls within that See were being properly guided if he didn’t know the strengths of his priests?
And while travelling over his See, he found boys who could be of benefit to the Cathedral or used in churches. If they had the ability to learn, they could be moulded to be useful. Bishop Stapledon had found many like that. Adam was one such, as were Luke and Henry. All of them had been found and saved from lives of irredeemable poverty, educated to the limits of their abilities and trained to sing and praise God.
Luke, of course, had to be recommended to the Bishop, but Stephen couldn’t regret his actions. At the time he was convinced it was best for the boy and for the Cathedral; but he was less convinced of Adam. The boy helped about the place, it was true, but he had an unpleasant streak in his nature. Not really suitable material for the Cathedral. He was capable of making and distributing candles, delivering loaves within the Close, sweeping floors or cleaning metalwork, but he was a sad failure when it came to Latin, to writing or counting. The best that could be said of him was that he had found his niche. He would certainly never advance, whatever the Dean wished.