‘That is one way of putting it. The law is seldom so exciting, as you know. But it is necessary to see all aspects of it if you are to return to Lincolnshire and help manage your father’s lands.’
The boy’s face fell, the first time I had seen him look sad. ‘I doubt I will go back, sir.’
I realized how little I knew of Nicholas; he had volunteered almost nothing about himself. ‘How so?’ I asked.
He looked at me with his dark green eyes. ‘I was sent to law because my father disapproved of something I did.’ He hesitated. ‘Involving a proposed marriage.’
I nodded sympathetically. ‘You wished to marry someone below your station?’ I knew such cases were not uncommon.
Nicholas shook his head vigorously. ‘No, sir. I am of age, I may marry where I like.’ His eyes flashed with sudden anger, his chin jutting forward.
‘Of course,’ I soothed.
He hesitated. ‘As my father’s only son, the marriage I make is important. Our estates have suffered from the fall in money like so many, the value of our rents has fallen and the tenants can afford no more. A marriage to the wealthy daughter of a neighbouring estate would have brought a valuable dowry.’
‘Yes. I know such arrangements can be – difficult. What is it they say of gentlefolk? Marry first and learn to love later.’
Nicholas’s face brightened a little. ‘You understand, sir. Well, a marriage was planned for me, with the daughter of a large estate near our manor at Codsall.’
‘And you did not like her? Or she you?’ I smiled sadly. ‘Neither position is easy.’
His face set hard. ‘We liked each other very much. But we did not love each other. I am no great catch, and nor in truth was she, so they thought we would go well together.’ He spoke bitterly. ‘So my father and mother put it to me. But Anys and I both desire, in God’s good time, to marry for love. We have seen enough marriages of convenience that have ended in discord. So she and I made a pact, during one of the walks we were encouraged to take in my father’s garden, as they watched us from the windows. We agreed to tell our parents we would not marry. My father was sore angry; he was already discontented with me for spending too much time hunting and hawking rather than helping on the estate, so he sent me here. As a sort of punishment, I think, though I was glad enough to leave the country and see London,’ he added. ‘Anys and I still write to each other, as friends.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘Well, sir, now you know me for a truly disobedient fellow.’
‘It sounds as though you and Anys might have rubbed along together quite happily.’
‘That is not enough.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Many would disagree, but I think like you, it is not.’
‘The poor have it easier,’ he said bitterly. ‘They may marry for love.’
‘Only when they can afford to, and that is often later than they would wish these days. As for the effects of the war, the taxation and the ruin of the coinage – well, your father still has his manor house, but his poor tenants will find it hard to pay the rent and eat.’
Nicholas shook his head firmly. ‘Now the war is over, prosperity will surely return. And the security of everyone depends on people staying within the ranks to which they were born. Otherwise we would have the anarchy of the Anabaptists.’
That bogey again. I said, ‘I confess that the more I see of mankind, the more I think we are all of one common clay.’
He considered for a moment, then said, ‘My family have been gentlefolk by birth for centuries. Since before the Conquest, my father says; since the Norsemen settled Lincolnshire. It is our heritage to rule.’
‘They became gentlefolk by conquest alone. The Norsemen took plenty from the English, as did the Normans. That is how most of our families become wealthy; I know, I am a property lawyer, I spend much time dabbling in ancient deeds.’
‘Land may be taken honourably in warfare, sir.’
‘As the Normans doubtless did from your Norse ancestors. You may have had more land once.’
‘Too late to fight for it now, I suppose. A pity, perhaps.’ He smiled.
I was starting to like Nicholas; he was showing signs of wit, and for all his upholding of gentlemanly conformity, he had himself defied convention. I said, ‘Well, we shall have the chance to talk more of land and who owns it as the new law term approaches. But now I must go home for lunch.’
‘Has there been any further progress on the murder of the printer?’ Nicholas asked.
‘No.’ I raised a finger. ‘And remember, do not speak of it.’
‘You have my promise as a gentleman.’
‘Good.’ My eye was drawn to Bealknap’s window. After lunch, I would lie down for an hour or two; I needed to rest. Then I would return.