Читать книгу Child of the Phoenix - Barbara Erskine - Страница 77

The Huntingdons were at home in their house in the Strand, a sprawling new suburb between London and Westminster, when news came that the Prince of Aberffraw had finally taken pity on his erring wife and forgiven her. After two years of imprisonment she had at last been allowed to return to her husband’s side and was reinstated in his favour. Eleyne gave the messenger a silver penny, overjoyed with the news, and went to find her husband.

‘I can go home! If papa has forgiven her, he will have forgiven me, won’t he, my lord? Oh, please. Can I go home?’ Not once in the last two years had they gone to the west.

John looked at her in astonishment and took the letter. It was the first she had ever received from Aber, and it came from Rhonwen.

‘Home? To Gwynedd you mean?’

She nodded in excitement. ‘Please?’ Noticing his expression she stopped uncomfortably. ‘I know I am your wife, I know I must come back to you when I am fourteen, but until then I could go home to Rhonwen. Back to Wales. Back to see Isabella –’ Her voice died away. They stood looking at each other for a long moment, and slowly her face fell.

‘I am sorry, sweetheart.’ John shook his head. ‘You must stay with me. Your home is with me now.’

‘My home is in Gwynedd.’ It was almost a sob.

‘Not now, Eleyne. You are the Countess of Huntingdon. Wales is no longer your home. It never will be again.’

‘But it must be!’ Huge tears welled up in her eyes. ‘It will always be my home. I love Wales. I hate it here!’ The angry sweep of her arm encompassed not only the heavily oak-beamed room of the house with the endless rattle of carts and wagons outside and the hot, fetid smell of the crowded streets of London so close, but the whole of eastern England and her husband’s domains.

‘Then you must learn to like it, Eleyne.’ His voice was unusually stern. He had not realised she still expected to go back to her father. He had thought she was happy with him. The wild ride of the night of the storm had not been repeated, and even before it she had appeared content to spend more and more time at his side, learning the intricate, sometimes tedious task of running the huge and complex administration. ‘There is no question of going back.’

‘Not ever?’ The look she gave him was stricken.

He took a deep breath. ‘No doubt a visit can be arranged at some point. When we go back to Chester we can consider it if your father wishes it. But at the moment he has made no mention of it. Neither, if you read your letter carefully,’ he handed it back to her, ‘does the Lady Rhonwen.’

Luned stared at Eleyne. ‘We can’t go back? Ever?’

Eleyne shook her head, biting back her tears. The brightly painted room with its terracotta walls and ornate gilded plasterwork between the beams was cool and shady compared with the street beyond the high gates. The small-paned windows let in a strange greenish light which cast ripples and shadows across the floor. The bitter smell of dry strewn herbs rose and tickled her throat as she moved.

‘Then what?’ Luned sat down heavily on the edge of a coffer.

‘We go on as before. England is our home now.’ Eleyne’s voice was flat. ‘Or Scotland, one day perhaps.’ Scotland was a fairy tale; part of a dream of a queen with a golden crown. ‘But we can visit Aber only if papa asks us. Luned,’ she went and sat down next to her, taking her hand, ‘I am going to write to Rhonwen. And to Isabella. I’ll ask them to speak to papa. Bella would want me there. Aber won’t be much fun on her own. There were so many things we were going to do together; so many adventures I had planned. She’ll persuade them to let me come back, I know she will.’

The bleak reality of John’s glimpse of the future was pushed aside. She could not, would not, believe it possible that she would never live in North Wales again.