I, Coriander (3 page)

I went into the house, thinking it best to disappear until I heard the click of the garden gate. Then I looked out of my bedchamber window to see Master Bedwell helping Mistress Tofton home.

Later that day my mother came and sat on my bed.

‘What made you say that to Patience?’ she asked.

‘I know not,’ I said, for in truth I did not. ‘I just know that she will marry Master Bedwell on Midsummer’s Day and they will have a son and a daughter.’

‘That is all?’

‘Yes,’ I said, giving it some thought. ‘Well, that much I feel certain about.’

‘Coriander,’ said my mother, looking into my eyes, ‘you are like me. But remember, you must keep your thoughts away from your tongue.’

‘I will never say another word about any of the thoughts I have tumbling in my head,’ I said apologetically.

‘That would be a pity,’ laughed my mother. ‘Let us agree that you can tell them to me and your father and Danes, but no one else.’

‘So can I have the silver shoes?’

‘No, Coriander. Believe me, they are not the right shoes for you.’ She sounded so sad. ‘I had shoes like those once. I walked in them for seventeen years. I want you to have different shoes, shoes of your own choosing, not shoes that will take you where you should not be going.’

‘But they are of my choosing,’ I cried. ‘I want them.’

‘Oh Coriander, you are not old enough to understand,’ said my mother. ‘You must trust me. I know what is best for you.’

But what could be better than the silver shoes?

I
n our family much was made of the anniversary of my birth, and I was given presents to mark the day. This year my mother had arranged for us to take our barge upriver. I woke early on the day and lay in bed as the sunlight reflected watery shadows round my chamber, listening to the street criers as they made their way to the bridge. As soon as the watchman called the hour I ran down the corridor towards my mother and father’s bedchamber. I felt like a top spinning with excitement.

‘Today is my day! Wake up!’ I cried. I pulled back the drapes on the huge oak four-poster bed and jumped into the middle of it.

‘I know it,’ laughed my father. ‘And the street knows it too.’ He leant down and brought out a box from under the bed.

I opened the box with trembling fingers. I was sure I knew what was in it. And there they were: plain, dead, heavy silver leather shoes. A sad imitation, a hopeless copy. Nothing like the silver shoes that had been left by the garden gate.

I felt tears welling up in my eyes and a lump in my throat.

‘I am sorry, poppet,’ said my father. ‘You cannot have those shoes. We hoped you would be happy with these instead.’

I climbed out of bed, all the excitement of the day gone, fighting back tears of disappointment.

‘Try them on,’ said my mother.

I did. They hurt and pinched my toes. I turned to leave, feeling miserable.

‘Coriander,’ called my mother. I looked back into the bedchamber. The floor had become a sea and the bed a ship, seen from a great distance. I could hear their voices calling me from far away. It lasted a minute or less. Maybe I dreamt it. Maybe I did not. It was an image that came to haunt me, and I have often wondered what would have happened if I had done as I was told and left the silver shoes alone. Would everything then have been all right?

I
made my way slowly and sadly back to my bedchamber, where Danes was waiting to dress me.

‘Ah, what is the long face for, my little sparrow?’ she said. ‘Do you not like your new shoes?’

I said nothing.

‘Oh well, you will not be wanting your present from me, then,’ said Danes, taking out from her apron pocket a parcel tied up with silk ribbon. Inside was a sewing box in the shape of a frog, beautifully embroidered, with needles, a thimble and a tiny pair of scissors as well as a fabric book of all the different stitches. So thrilled was I that for a moment I forgot my grief over the shoes.

I was left alone with my little parcel while Danes went to attend to my mother. I could hear my father calling for hot water, and the silver shoes calling for me. For a moment I thought I must have imagined it, yet I could see where the call was coming from as if it were a wisp of smoke from my father’s pipe. I got up and followed it down the stairs to the study.

‘Coriander, Coriander, slip us on your dainty feet.

We are waiting, soft and silver, we will dance you down the street.’

I stood there listening, and finally I took my trembling courage in both hands and opened the door.

The study was dark. The alligator stood unmoving and all-seeing, king of the ebony cabinet, the key on its ribbon hanging out invitingly over his teeth.

I closed the door and stood with my back against it, my hand still on the handle, my heart beating like a drum. Quietness filled the room. There I stood. A decision had to be made. Did I have the courage to do this? I told myself that I did. I just wanted to see the shoes one more time, that was all.

I tried to move a chair over to the cabinet so that I could climb up and reach the key. The chair was far too heavy so I dragged it instead, as quietly as a chair can be dragged, then waited to make sure no one had heard me. I climbed up. Standing on tiptoe I was faced with the alligator. He looked more frightening close up, as if at any minute he would spring into action.

Did I really want to see the shoes that much? Oh yes, I did, and more. I half shut my eyes. Shaking with fear, I reached into the alligator’s mouth and grabbed the key. If the alligator snapped his jaw shut I did not feel it, I did not see it.

I climbed down and opened the cabinet. Inside were many tiny drawers beautifully inlaid with cedarwood. I was not sure which one to choose.

I stood very still holding my breath and then I heard it again, this time no more than a whisper.

‘Coriander, Coriander.’

I pulled open a drawer at the bottom and there they were, the most magical pair of shoes in the world. They were like glass. They were like diamonds. They were like stars.

Oh, I thought, what harm if I just tried them on?

The shoes fitted as if they were made for me. I stood marvelling at their beauty. How long I stood like that, I do not know. It must have been some time because to my alarm I heard my name being called, and not in a whisper.

‘Coriander, Coriander! Where is the child?’

I quickly tried to take the shoes off, but they would not leave my feet. It was as if they were attached to me. In a panic of getting found out, I managed to close the drawer and put the key back into the alligator’s mouth just before Danes opened the door.

‘Coriander, what are you doing here, you ninny?’ she said. ‘We have been looking high and low for you. Come, the barge is about to leave.’

T
he good thing about living by the river was that we had our very own water gate and mooring, so that there were proper steps down to our barge. Therefore there was no need to lift my skirt too high, and my shoes went unnoticed. I told myself that in the evening I would take them off and put them back, but just for today they would be mine.

We were rowed upriver past Whitehall, where the city gives way to open fields and pastures, the water losing its look of mercury and becoming clearer like the air. There in a meadow full of flowers our bargemen pulled the boat out of the river up on to the bank. Everyone then set to the task of making a day of doing nothing as comfortable as could be. Baskets of food were put under the trees, bottles of wine left to chill in the water and fishing lines set up for those in need of some sport.

While all this was going on I slipped away out of sight and sat down on a grassy bank, hoping that this time the shoes would come off. I pulled at them, and they slipped off with no trouble at all. I thought that I must have imagined they would not come off. I put them safely under some leaves where I knew no one would find them.

My mother too took off her shoes and stockings and, lifting her skirts, chased me round the meadow, her hair coming down, my cap flying off as we ran round and round until we fell in a heap of giggles. I made her daisy chains and found flowers for her hair. I paddled in the river, watched little fishes swim over my toes, was twirled like a windmill in my father’s arms.

The day drifted past. It was time to retrieve my silver shoes. I was careful to keep my skirt well pulled down as we lay under the oak tree on an array of rugs and cushions like Roman emperors, eating our feast with dappled sunshine for our candles. My father had even arranged for three musicians to play sweet songs to us. In all this enjoyment I forgot what I had done until much later, when we were once more homeward bound.

The night rolled in over the river and stole the day away. The watermen lit lanterns on their boats so that the river twinkled and danced with lights. I was sleepy after such a wonderful day of fresh air and food.

My mother said suddenly and sharply, ‘Coriander, where did you get those shoes?’

I was immediately wide awake and realised to my horror that my shoes were showing.

‘I...’ I stammered. I knew I was in trouble. ‘I am sorry, but the other shoes pinched.’

‘That was naughty,’ said my mother, looking disappointed.

‘You mean to say,’ said my father, who had his arm round me, ‘that you got up on a chair and put your hand in the alligator’s mouth to get the key?’

I nodded.

‘Well, well. I am impressed. Quite a brave thing to do for someone as scared of that alligator as you.’

My mother said nothing and looked away. I knew she was not pleased.

‘Oh, Eleanor my love,’ said my father, ‘I know she should not have done it, but it is Coriander’s day. Why not let her have the shoes and be done with it? I think she has earned them.’

‘They are the best pair of shoes I have ever worn,’ I said. I felt so excited that I hardly dared move in case he should change his mind.

My mother turned and stared at the shoes. ‘They came off easily?’ she asked me.

‘Yes, they did,’ I replied. I was not telling the truth.

‘There. Perhaps we are just making too much of it,’ said my father. ‘What harm can come from a pair of shoes?’

My mother said, ‘Plenty, and you know it, Thomas.’

4

Raven’s Wings

I
was still reeling from my triumph of having been given the silver shoes. My mother had said no more about them and I knew I had been forgiven. They were mine and that was all that mattered. I was determined to wear them the next day when I went with Danes on her usual errands.

‘They will be ruined in all that mud and muck,’ sighed Danes, tucking my hair into my cap and patting down my skirt. I was not going to say so, but I knew her to be right. My shoes were not suited to the rude streets of London.

‘No, they will not. They are magic shoes,’ I told her.

‘Magic, are they?’ said Danes, getting down the wicker basket from the shelf in the kitchen. We were going to take some potions to a cloth merchant’s wife who lived in a house on the bridge and had had much trouble of late.

My mother came into the room with a bunch of herbs.

‘You are not going in those shoes, my love, are you?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ I said stubbornly, ‘I am.’

‘They will be ruined.’

‘They are never going to be ruined,’ I assured her, ‘because I put a magic charm on them this morning.’

‘Do you not think,’ said my mother, smiling and bending down, ‘it would be better if you put a charm on them so that they always bring you safely home?’

We both looked at my shoes and studied them solemnly for a moment or two.

‘Very pretty,’ said my mother at last. ‘I once -’ she began, but then she stopped what she was saying and gave me a kiss. ‘Off you go.’

It was, I remember, a pleasant spring morning with the promise of heat. The narrow street at the front of our house was full of people bustling and jostling, making their way towards the bridge. I held tightly to Danes’s hand. Not being very tall, all I could see were skirts and legs coming towards me and pushing past me. Hawkers, apprentices and watermen were shouting. Then into the mix of noise and people came a gaggle of hissing geese. They sounded like a hundred fish-women arguing over the price of their wares. I pulled on Danes’s apron and begged her to carry me. I found geese worrying.

‘Oh, you are too big for this, Coriander,’ she chided, lifting me up on to her hip so that I could see where we were going.

When I was carried I liked to stretch my arms up high to see if I had grown tall enough to touch the signs that hung down from each house and shop. They were all painted with different pictures so that you could see who lived where and who sold what. Our house sign was a painted mulberry tree. The signs were supposed to be hung high enough for a horse and rider to pass beneath. In our narrow street some signs were so low that I thought a rider might lose his hat, if not his head.

Finally we came to the bridge. ‘You can walk from here, little sparrow,’ said Danes, setting me down and straightening herself out.

This is the one and only bridge that goes over the River Thames. There is no other way to cross it unless you go by boat. It is the most splendid bridge. I loved and feared it in equal measure. I feared the pickled heads stuck on poles at Traitors’ Gate like monstrous gargoyles staring down on the travellers, warning them what could befall such vagabonds and Royalists in this godly city. I loved the bustle of the shops, the street hawkers, the street criers, the overhanging gardens, the walkways. There was, so my father said, no bridge in the world to match it.

By the time we arrived the shops were all open. Coaches and carts rumbled along the main thoroughfare, scattering passers-by and chickens. The noise was deafening, with church bells ringing out, apprentices shouting, the water wheels churning. People were scurrying this way and that, not looking where they were going. Into this human soup came the beasts from the countryside on their way to the cattle market.