Sorry.
ALISON: You're forgiven. I've known worse offences.
VOICE OFF: Alison! What are you dawdling about?
ALISON: Coming! See you later, Master Nicholas.
Exit. Nicholas gazes after her for a moment, then continues his sketching, evidently having trouble in seeing what is wrong with the image that Alison had criticised but trying to improve it. After a minute or two Alison reappears on another errand. Their subsequent banter is kept as light as possible.
NICHOLAS: That didn't take long.
ALISON: Disappointed?
NICHOLAS: Far from it. Can you stay a bit longer this time?
ALISON: Just a moment. I do have work to do, you know.
NICHOLAS: I don't want to get you into trouble.
ALISON (deliberately misinterpreting): You're very much mistaken if you think you'll get the chance.
NICHOLAS: I mean for neglecting your duties.
ALISON: They're not too desperately urgent.
NICHOLAS: Would you – er –
ALISON: I thought we'd settled that.
NICHOLAS: You've got a one–track mind!
ALISON: And your thoughts are all pure and flower–like?
NICHOLAS (grinning ruefully): Not always.
ALISON: Good. You had me worried for a moment. Now what was it you were going to ask?
NICHOLAS: Well, painting this bit of the hall is all good practice, but it isn't terribly interesting. I wondered if you'd let me paint you.
ALISON: This effort seems to be giving you quite enough trouble. How long would that take?
NICHOLAS: I suppose I could get enough down in an hour or two to work up later.
ALISON: Do you seriously suppose that I could stay here for one hour, let alone two, when there's all the laundry to sort out?
NICHOLAS: Not in one session, of course. But couldn't you sneak the odd five minutes every time you pass through? In your not desperately urgent duties?
ALISON: I don't spend all my time traipsing backwards and forwards through here. This is exceptional. And I'd better get on with it or there'll be the devil to pay. 'Bye.
Exit. Thwarted, Nicholas returns to his painting. It is not going well and after a while he throws down his brush in frustration, then realises that it has made a mess on the floor that he had better clean up.
NICHOLAS: Oh, damn!
Having done so he notices a splash on his hose and has to attend to that. His concentration is ruined and his attempts to adjust his picture make matters worse. While he is intent on them, muttering under his breath, Alison returns and again stands behind him without his noticing.
ALISON: It still looks wrong.
NICHOLAS: Eh?!!
He is startled into dropping his brush. This time it falls on his hose leaving a streak of colour before making another mess on the floor.
NICHOLAS: Oh, no!
ALISON: You don't seem so pleased to see me this time.
NICHOLAS: I'm sorry, Alison. Of course I'm pleased. But I've only just cleaned up one mess.
ALISON: Are you always as clumsy as this?
NICHOLAS: No, it must be the effect you have on me.
ALISON: That's right, blame the woman. The old story. Here, give me that rag, I'll clear up the splash on the floor.
NICHOLAS (indicating the stained hose): I'm really more concerned about this one.
ALISON (sharply): You can see to that yourself. (More gently) Good try, but too obvious. Get the worst off, then leave the hose out tonight and I'll see they're washed in the morning.
NICHOLAS: Thank you. Sorry I was ratty just now.
ALISON: Don't be silly. Anyone would be annoyed.
NICHOLAS: It's a good job they're just my travelling togs. But I thought you weren't coming back.
ALISON: So did I. I mentioned what you were thinking of to Gran –
NICHOLAS: You didn't!
ALISON: The painting, I mean, not the other. "Cheek!" she said. But Grandad said His Lordship had given instructions that the bishop's people were to have everything they wanted, so I'd better give you your hour or two, and Gran couldn't argue very much with that. She couldn't see his wink behind her back.
NICHOLAS (returning to normal good humour): How far does that instruction go?
ALISON (mock–severe): Not that far. I don't know, you're incorrigible. Now, how do you want me?
NICHOLAS: Need you ask?
ALISON: Nicholas! Behave yourself, or I'll tell Grandad you're trying to seduce me. Or tell Dad, which would be no joke at all. Where do you want me to sit?
NICHOLAS: Just there, in the light. Make yourself comfortable, and keep looking at something definite over my left shoulder. That's it. Now, can you hold that position?
ALISON: I think so. May I talk?
NICHOLAS: Can anyone stop you? But try to keep your head still, and the same expression as far as you can.
ALISON: Smiling? Solemn? Or what?
NICHOLAS: Try a few. (She does, including a few consciously comic or grotesque) Come on, be serious. No, I don't mean it must be a serious expression, just don't fool about.
ALISON: What do you expect of the Fool's daughter?
NICHOLAS: Something of the common sense he's supposed to have.
She goes rather stiffly through a range of rather more natural expressions
NICHOLAS: That's better. Now, more relaxed, and go through them slowly. That's it. No, the one before. That's it – lovely. Hold that.
He busies himself with a new panel, prepared earlier with primer and ground, and first sketches in the outline, then if time permits starts to add colour. For a minute or so there is silence.
NICHOLAS: I haven't seen your father about, this time.
ALISON: No, he's gone off to see Granpa Miller. Lord Robert said there'd been some trouble and he'd better make sure everything was sorted out.
NICHOLAS: Oh, that business at the mill.
ALISON: You know about it?
NICHOLAS: He wasn't here when we arrived, and explained that he'd been held up dealing with a shindig there. Apparently a row about the miller's cut that turned nasty.
ALISON: Oh dear. How nasty?
NICHOLAS: Don't worry, he said it wasn't serious. A case for fines and restitution rather than hanging. Is there no other help there?
ALISON: My two uncles and a journeyman. But they tend to argue about how to do anything out of the ordinary, rather than getting on with the job. Dad can usually organise them better.
NICHOLAS: He's the eldest brother?
ALISON: Actually the youngest. But being friendly with Lord Robert gives him a lot of clout.
Nicholas nods understanding, but has to concentrate on a tricky detail for a while in silence.
NICHOLAS: So Gran and Grandad are your mother's parents?
ALISON: Yes, they've more or less looked after me since my mother died.
NICHOLAS: Oh, I didn't know that. I'm sorry.
ALISON: How could you? Actually I never knew her – it was when I was born. Dad misses her badly, though. They say he was always a bit dour, but it made him worse. "Goes around like having one foot in the grave."
NICHOLAS: A dour jester. Now I've seen everything. Will I have met Grandad?
ALISON: I expect so. He's the castle steward.
NICHOLAS: Cedric! Of course I know him. Marvellous character.
ALISON: Yes, I think so. No one could have been kinder. And Gran's much the same. She tends to be a bit stricter with me, but to be honest it's always for a good reason.
Another pause for concentration.
ALISON: Painting's not a usual activity for a page, is it? Here it's all grammar, etiquette and military training when they're not on other duties.
NICHOLAS: I've had some lessons in swordsmanship from the captain of the bodyguard. But I was no good at it. I could probably defend myself against an ordinary footpad, but somehow I don't see myself ever shining in knightly exploits.
ALISON: So your amatory activities have all
been in the day–time, have they?
NICHOLAS: I said knightly, not nightly. On a horse. With a K. Oh, sorry.
ALISON: For what?
NICHOLAS: I was forgetting. Girls don't usually get lessons in writing, do they?
ALISON: I'll let you into a secret, if you promise not to tell anyone.
NICHOLAS: Of course I promise.
ALISON: Dad taught me to read and write. On the quiet. Said you could never tell when it was going to be useful. But I shouldn't let on, or people would think I was getting above myself.
Another pause.
NICHOLAS: I've got a secret, too.
ALISON: What about?
NICHOLAS: My amatory history.
ALISON: I don't think I ought to hear this.
NICHOLAS: It's really shocking. (Leaning towards her; sotto voce) There isn't any.
ALISON (laughing, not displeased): I might have guessed. All talk and no action.
NICHOLAS: That's me. Big–mouth Nicholas. To be fair, there aren't all that many opportunities in a clerical household.
ALISON: Now you're just making excuses.
NICHOLAS: Guilty as charged. Er –
ALISON: Yes?
NICHOLAS: I was wondering. It's a bit cheeky, but do you have a boy friend?
ALISON: No.
NICHOLAS: None at all?
ALISON: Well, there are boys I'm friendly with. But just for dances and the like. They're good–hearted enough, but – well – they're a bit – uncouth, if you see what I mean.
NICHOLAS: Yes, I see. (After a pause) Alison …
ALISON: Yes?
NICHOLAS: We're only staying here a few days. But the Bishop wants to keep in closer touch with Lord Robert – they're worried about the political situation. If I got the courier to slip an occasional letter to you secretly, would you mind?
ALISON (simply): I think I'd rather like that.
FADE OUT.
Back to Contents
FADE IN TO A CORRIDOR IN THE CASTLE, SOME MONTHS LATER
Alison is hurrying along, then reaching an alcove and looking around her, takes out a letter and starts to read it. She hears footsteps approaching, hastily puts the letter away and bustles off; too hastily, as the letter falls out. A young servant, Rob, comes from the opposite direction and notices the letter, picks it up and looking back sees Alison disappearing round a corner. He is about to call out, then remembers that he should not draw attention to himself and considers what to do. Going on his way he meets Tom Miller.
ROB: Excuse me, Master Thomas –
TOM: Yes?
ROB: I'm sorry to bother you, but I found this paper on the floor and it looked as though Mistress Alison had dropped it, but I couldn't attract her attention. Can you tell if it is hers?
Tom looks quickly at the letter, realises what it is and is shocked but quickly recovers himself.
TOM: Aye, lad, it is.
ROB: Should I have run after her with it, do you think?
TOM: No, you did right. Thanks.
CUT TO CEDRIC'S QUARTERS.
The family is gathered, Tom angrily waving the letter in Alison's face.
TOM: So you've been having a secret correspondence, have you?
Alison is silent.
TOM: It wasn't for this sort of thing that I taught you your letters. How long's it been going on?
ALISON (sullenly): A few months.
TOM: And who's this fellow who signs himself just N?
Alison is silent.
TOM: Come on, out with it!
ALISON: It's nothing to do with you.
TOM: What? It damn well is! I'm your father, dammit!
ALICE (apprehensively): It couldn't be Nat Cartwright, could it?
TOM: That so–and–so? It'd better not be!
ALISON (indignantly): No it is not! You don't suppose I'd have anything to do with the likes of him, do you?
CEDRIC: That's something to be thankful for. But who is it? Your father does have a right to know.
ALICE: Yes, dear. It's for your own good.
ALISON: Well, he's a gentleman – and of perfectly good reputation.
Tom has dropped the letter; Cedric picks it up and looks at it.
ALICE: How do we know that if you won't say who he is?
CEDRIC: Well, he certainly writes like one.
ALISON: Give me that!
Cedric looks at Tom, who shakes his head.
CEDRIC: I think I'd better keep this, for the time being. But I'll keep it safe, don't worry.
TOM (calmer): Look, Alison, this fellow – whoever he is – may have a perfectly good reputation himself as you say, but men like that aren't always very careful with other people's.
ALISON: He's not that sort!
ALICE: Well, maybe. But even if he isn't, this can't get anywhere.
ALISON: Why not?
CEDRIC: You see, if he's a gentleman, he'll have to marry into his own class. As like as not it'll all be arranged for him by the family. It's a business arrangement more than anything.
TOM: That's right. You can't base marriage on all that nonsense about romantic love, anyway.
ALISON (aggressively): And why is it nonsense?
TOM: Because it's a kind of madness. Everything looks rosy, whatever it's really like. An utter scoundrel can seem a model of perfection. You see his true colours only too late. Make the most important decision of your life in that sort of state and you're asking for years of misery.
ALISON: Huh!
CEDRIC: Your father's right, I'm afraid. At least in general. Have you actually talked of marriage?
ALISON: No, we've never got that far.
ALICE: You wouldn't settle for being his mistress, would you?
ALISON: Of course not. He made some joking suggestions ...
TOM: Ah.
ALISON: ... but I made it quite clear I wasn't having any of it.
TOM: And what did he say to that?
ALISON: He simply accepted it.
ALICE: That's something to be thankful for.
TOM: As far as it goes. But how long can you keep it up?
ALISON: As long as it takes.
CEDRIC: Which looks like being a lifetime. Are you going to be satisfied with that?
ALISON: Well ...
TOM: Then for your own sake you'd better have nothing more to do with him.
ALISON: Dad!
TOM: And that's final.
Alison bursts into tears and rushes out of the room. Cedric and Alice look at each other, shrugging.
FADE OUT.
Back to Contents
FADE IN TO THE PARLOUR, 1438.
Robert and Justin are in the midst of a conversation not directly relevant to the plot, Nicholas abstractedly in attendance with a collection of files.
JUSTIN: … so for once I'm not too worried about having a sovereign so excessively devoted to the church. Otherwise I'm not sure whether the French war would encourage him to do the opposite to Charles or to over–reach him.
ROBERT: I get lost in all this business. Local politics is bad enough, I have to take some interest in the national issues, but keeping up with what's happening on the continent is beyond me.
JUSTIN: Not surprising, though I suspect you've a far shrewder idea of it than you let on. Come to think of it, you picked up the Burgundian business smartly enough. But on this I have to keep referring to the documents myself or I'd get in a hopeless tangle. Nicholas, the file on the Council of Basel, please.
NICHOLAS (snapping out of his reverie): I – er – I'm sorry, my lord, what did you say?
JUSTIN: Nicholas! Pass me the file on the Council of Basel.
NICHOLAS: Yes, my lord. (Searching) I'm sorry, it looks as though I forgot to bring it.
JUSTIN (eyes cast heavenwards): Give me patience! Nip along and get it. And no dawdling on the way! (Exit Nicholas) It's essentially a question of whether the Pope or a general council has the higher authority.
ROBERT: Sounds a bit out of my line
of country.
JUSTIN: Well, it could have practical consequences. Though it beats me how half a dozen not very distinguished bishops left behind in Basel after the rest moved to Ferrara can still claim to be a general council – and that particular council was never up to much in the first place.
ROBERT: In what way?
JUSTIN: For a start, hardly anyone could get to it, for one reason or another. And as for their having any right to depose a pope, it's rather like your manorial court purporting to appoint the parish constable in place of Henry, sixth of that name, by the grace of God our sovereign liege–lord etcetera etcetera etcetera.
Nicholas returns with a file; Justin takes it.
JUSTIN: Thank you. (Exasperatedly) Nicholas!
NICHOLAS: Yes, my lord?
JUSTIN: I said Basel, not Basil. And about a council. We've enough troubles in the here and now without worrying about routine atrocities in the Balkans three centuries ago. Why on earth did we bring that one anyway?
NICHOLAS: I don't ...
JUSTIN: Oh, never mind.
NICHOLAS: I – I– I'm very sorry, my lord. I mis–heard you.
JUSTIN: All right. No excuses. Just get it. The Council of Basel, remember, not the culinary use of herbs or whatever else comes into your head.
Exit Nicholas
ROBERT (amused): Not like Nicholas to be so inefficient. Is he sickening for something, do you think?
JUSTIN: I'm afraid he may be.
CUT TO A SUNNY RIVERSIDE SCENE
Nicholas is lying on the bank, dreamily reading a book. Voice-over continues.
ROBERT (concerned): Anything serious?
JUSTIN: It could be – for him.
ROBERT: That's bad enough. But not infectious? I keep thinking of the plague.
JUSTIN: Maybe sometimes. It seems to be spread by books, among other things.
ROBERT: Oh?
JUSTIN: I caught him with his nose stuck in a collection of Petrarch's sonnets the other day. That man has a lot to answer for.
ROBERT (relieved): So that's it. Poor lad! He has my sympathy. I remember, back in my own teens … Any idea who's the lady?
JUSTIN: Yes, though you'd never guess it.
CUT BACK TO ROBERT AND JUSTIN
ROBERT: I shan't try. Don't keep me in suspense.
JUSTIN: Your Tom Fool's daughter, of all people.
ROBERT: Alison?
JUSTIN: Yes, that was the name he mentioned.
ROBERT: Good lord. Well, that solves one little mystery.
JUSTIN: Does it indeed? What's that?
ROBERT: Tom came to me a few weeks ago, very worried. One of the servants had picked up a letter that Alison had dropped –
JUSTIN: So she's literate, is she? Unusual, for a girl in her position.
ROBERT: Yes, Tom told me he'd taught her. He seemed to regard that as something of a confession – didn't want it spread around – so we'd better consider all this a confidence.
JUSTIN: Of course.
ROBERT: It turned out to be in very affectionate terms from someone signing himself simply N, but evidently well educated and cultured. Alison assured Tom that there'd been no hanky–panky and wouldn't be, and he doesn't doubt her word or intention, but – well, we all know where good intentions can lead, especially when Cupid gets his bow and arrow out.
JUSTIN: Do we know how deeply smitten she is?
ROBERT: Hard to tell. Tom's impression is that she's kept her head about it pretty well, but if marriage were suggested she'd jump at it.
JUSTIN: Hmm. Not on, is it?
ROBERT: As Tom indeed pointed out to her. Is Nicholas that serious, do you think? Or is it just a passing fancy?
JUSTIN: As far as a lad of his age knows his own mind, I should say he's very serious. He did have a crush on the chaplain's sister a while back, but it never took him this badly and he was over it in five weeks. The next one lasted even less. This time, it seems he's hardly looked at any other girl for the past six months – come to think of it, quite a lot longer – the time does seem to be going faster than when we were younger – and that's really something, for him.
ROBERT: Well, at least you can congratulate him on his good taste.
JUSTIN: You approve?
ROBERT: She's comely, capable, pleasant–mannered and so far as I can tell virtuous. Certainly well brought up. Well liked, too. All the qualities he could ask in a wife – except the one essential.
JUSTIN: Class?
ROBERT: Exactly. I don't like the idea of confusing the boundaries. Could bring all kinds of problems. Look what happened when old Percy's nephew eloped with the shoemaker's daughter.
JUSTIN: Yes, he did rather put his foot in it.
ROBERT: Justin!
JUSTIN: Sorry. To be serious, I do see the difficulties.
ROBERT: Though Alison is a cut above the usual run of servants. Nicholas could look a good deal higher and do worse.
JUSTIN: Hmm. And his own background isn't all that exalted.
ROBERT: Oh? I don't think you've ever mentioned it.
JUSTIN: Didn't I? Well, do you remember my law man, Will Palmer? He died, with his wife and most of the children, when a disappointed litigant set fire to his house. Nicholas is the only surviving son.
ROBERT: How was that?
JUSTIN: He was away visiting an uncle at the time. Will had served me well, so I took the lad on as a page. I felt I owed it – the lawsuit in question was one for the diocese – though the uncle professes to consider it a favour to have the responsibility taken off his hands.
ROBERT: I suppose letting him think so does no harm.
JUSTIN: True. But if it is a favour it's been amply rewarded. It's almost like having a son of my own.
ROBERT: Oh yes?
JUSTIN: And you can take that smirk off your face, Robert Ernscar! I'm no model of priestly virtue, heaven knows, but I've never gone in for that kind of shenanigans. But to get back to the point. The lad's going to marry some time, and I'd like to see him happy. And just now, I'd like to get his mind back on his duties.
CUT TO JUSTIN'S CHAMBER.
Nicholas is hunting through a stack of documents with increasing panic, eventually with relief finding the one he wants. He takes it through various corridors and stairways until he chances to meet Alison and forgets his errand.
CUT BACK TO ROBERT AND JUSTIN
ROBERT: ... but I don't like what I hear about what's going on in London.
Nicholas returns, rather breathless, with the required file.
JUSTIN: Oh, there you are. Where on earth have you been? What took you so long?
NICHOLAS: I – I couldn't find the file at first. I had to search for it.
JUSTIN: You didn't by any chance run into Mistress Alison, did you?
NICHOLAS: Well –
JUSTIN: And how much of her time did you waste?
NICHOLAS: It didn't seem long. I suppose it might have been about a quarter of an hour.
JUSTIN: Well, you've confessed, so you're forgiven. But there has to be a penance, doesn't there?
NICHOLAS (subdued): Yes, my lord.
JUSTIN: And as his lordship is the offended party, he should set the penance. Eh, Robert?
ROBERT: Well, if you insist.
JUSTIN: Yes, I do .
ROBERT: So – I think the punishment should fit the crime. Wasting a quarter of an hour of Alison's time. Hmm. You'd better run along and help her make up for it.
NICHOLAS (delighted): Yes, my lord! Thank you.
Exit
JUSTIN (laughing): Robert, you old rogue, you're incorrigible!
ROBERT: Let them enjoy it while they can. It's likely to be brief enough.
JUSTIN: You think so?
ROBERT: In other circumstances it might have worked. But even then, how could we tell? How could they?
JUSTIN: What do you mean?
ROBERT: You can't base a lifetime's commitment on – what? – a few minutes snatched when they've chanced to bump into
each other during visits spread over a year or two Perhaps an hour's actual contact all told
JUSTIN (slyly): Plus a quarter.
ROBERT: All right, an hour and a quarter if you must be pedantic. It doesn't make any difference. There's probably more imagination than substance in his ideas of her.
JUSTIN: Quite possibly. How well did you know the Lady Eleanor before you were married?
CUT IN SILENT FLASBACK TO A COOL BUT COURTEOUS COURTSHIP BETWEEN THE MUCH YOUNGER ROBERT AND ELEANOR, FOLLOWED BY BRIEF SCENES OF THE DEVELOPING RELATIONSHIP.
The voice-over continues.
ROBERT: That's different. The usual family set–up. The backgrounds were similar, everything tangible fitted. Of course we met a couple of times, briefly, enough to make sure that we didn't actually hate each other. And that was all it needed for essentially an alliance between two factions. The personal relationship hardly mattered.
JUSTIN: Yet by all accounts it's turned out tolerably well.
ROBERT (smiling affectionately): Tolerably indeed. But don't forget, we started off without any great expectations in that direction. We knew we had to rub along together, and that we'd have to work at it – and I can tell you, it was damned hard work at times. Eleanor's a strong character, and I don't think you'd call me a weakling.
JUSTIN: A shade sentimental at