Читать книгу Madrilene's Granddaughter - Laura Cassidy - Страница 8

Maiden Court, the family home of the Latimar family, was ablaze with light in the dusk of the evening which saw the first night of the three-day celebrations planned for Bess and Harry’s long marriage. It was a beautiful place, without the grandeur which might be expected of such owners, and virtually unchanged since the Norman conqueror had caused it to rise from the hotly contested land he had been given as reward for his valour in battle. He had been named William after his commander and the estate had remained in the Christowe family for many years, until one of the young Franco-English heirs had misguidedly sat down to play cards with Harry Latimar.

Harry had brought his new bride, Bess, to it; it had then entered into its golden age, for Bess had been both lady and farmer’s daughter. Her strong instinct for the soil had encouraged her to bring the land back to fulfilment; her more delicate strain, vested in her by her aristocratic father, had enabled her to make it a true gentleman of England’s home. Over the past three decades Maiden Court had become renowned for being the most flourishing and lucrative estate within a radius of one hundred miles, and also a place English nobles enjoyed visiting to take their ease. Gay King Hal had spent many hours beneath its accommodating roof, as had his successive Queens, and his sickly heir, Edward. Mary Tudor had expressed the opinion that Maiden Court, with its peaceful verdant acres, “offers me peace in my troubled life”, and her sister, Elizabeth, obviously felt the same for scarcely a half-year passed during her reign when she did not visit.

Hal, pausing on the slope overlooking the manor and gazing down on the mellow house, every window yellow with candle light, smiled sideways at his companion, saying, “I have been riding back from some place or other for ten years and never fail to be moved by the first sight of my home.”

Piers shifted in his saddle. “There is no place like home, or so they say,” he murmured sardonically. “Naturally, I do not speak from experience.” He knew it was unforgivable to make such a bitter comment, but—just sometimes—he was overcome by envy. It was irrational, he knew, for he probably had been given in his short life every reasonable entitlement. But, a dedicated gambler, he often felt the odds to be so damned uneven. Why should one man have so much, another so little? It was not a question which could ever be answered, or presumably there would be less miserable beggars at the gates of Greenwich or Windsor or Richmond. And he had to admit he was more advantaged than they. After all, his reluctant father need not have made so casual a gesture as ensuring his bastard son was educated and trained and sent out into the world as a qualified soldier. And yet, occasionally, Piers was resentful. Resentful of Hal Latimar who had it all: good breeding, good looks, plenty of money and not a care for any of it. Not a thought other than where the next card or dice game would be held, or the next cock fight or bear-baiting bout would take place. And if these excitements palled, there was always the prospect of an assignation with a pretty woman, usually falling over her silken skirts in her haste to succeed in snaring Latimar where so many of her sisters had failed.

Hal put a swift hand on his arm. “You know,” he said, “you are always welcome in my home.”

Piers returned the smile ruefully. It was impossible really to resent his generous friend for long. “I know, but your mother’s letter said this was to be a purely family affair—I may be out of place on this occasion.”

Hal shook his reins and began to descend the rise. Over his shoulder he replied, “Nonsense! If anyone suggests any such thing, we shall take our leave immediately.”

In fact, Bess was a little put out that Hal had brought his friend, not because she did not like Piers, but because she knew Hal well enough to know he rarely made the journey home without company because this company was a kind of protective armour against any complaints which might be directed towards him. She was aware her husband wanted to speak to his son of the debts he so frequently incurred and of his irresponsible behaviour in general. This coming autumn Hal would come into his majority, would be granted—if he wished—an establishment of his own and considerable monies would be settled on him. Thereafter he would be his own master. Meanwhile, he must live within his generous allowance. Nevertheless, she embraced both boys fondly and hurried them into the house.

“Are the rest of the clan not gathered yet?” Hal asked as he looked about the hall, acknowledging its unspoken welcome and accepting a glass of wine.

“Sadly Anne and the rest of the Hamiltons cannot get away, but George and his family are expected before nightfall and we are soon to entertain visitors…Tonight will be an adult party, tomorrow we will do it all over again with the little ones present.”

“It sounds terrifying,” Hal commented, turning towards the stairs as Harry Latimar descended. Regretfully, Hal noticed the slow movements, the breathless pauses, the general deterioration of his father since last they met. With his characteristically graceful stride he crossed the floor and leaped up the stairs to embrace the other man who gratefully took his arm for the remaining steps. Safely in his chair by the hearth, a glass of his own in his hands, Harry gave the charming smile his younger son had inherited to both young men. “Dear Hal, how well you look, and Piers, my boy! Come, both shake my hand and forgive my decrepitude.” Piers and Hal leaned affectionately over the back of his chair, laughing and joking. But soon Hal straightened up and his eyes sought his mother’s across the hall. She made a wry little grimace and turned back to the table.

At that moment horses’ hooves and voices could be heard in the yard outside. The door opened and a young woman stepped inside, throwing back the hood of her cloak. Bess hurried forward. “Katherine, my dear, welcome to Maiden Court!” The girl acknowledged the greeting with a little smile and offered her cheek.

Hal, conscious that his father was struggling to rise and that Piers was helping him, remained rooted to the spot. He was dazzled. Surely this latest addition to the hall had brought every last ray of the setting sun in with her. Katherine Monterey was astonishingly fair. No, not fair, but golden. Golden-haired, golden-eyed; her vivid face cream and rose and gold. She shimmered against the dark panelling of the old hall. Time paused for Hal as she smilingly and sympathetically waited for Harry Latimar to reach her.

She then stood on tiptoe to kiss him, took his arm and that of his lady and, thus linked, came further into the room. Behind these three George was ushering his family in, but Hal had no eyes for anyone but the apparition approaching. He moved at last and Harry introduced him gravely. Katherine smiled mischievously.

“Well…the only member of the family I have not yet met. How do you do, sir? I have heard a great deal about you.” She laughed, a marvellous musical expression of enjoyment, then glanced behind her. “Rachel—where is Rachel?” Unnoticed, a small dark girl was standing shyly amongst the chattering visitors. “May I introduce the Lady Rachel Monterey? A very distant cousin who is lately come to England to be my—er—companion.”

The girl came forward tentatively and dropped a graceful curtsy. Rising, she said in a soft timorous voice, “Good evening my lord, my lady and sir.”

Katherine grasped her hand and turned her about to present her to the others. Hal bowed and his uninterested, but assessing, eyes swept over her.

Rachel Monterey was delicately made, unfashionably full-bosomed, but otherwise very small and slender. Her downpouring of shining blue-black hair appeared too heavy for her elegantly moulded head on its slim white neck. Her face was a pale triangle, distinguished by a small straight nose, a determinedly firm chin and a pair of extravagantly lashed dark eyes overlarge with an expression both wary and proud. She had been born in Spain of an English father and a mother who had both English and Spanish blood in her veins. Her father she knew only from a little miniature painted before he died, her mother from a great portrait which had hung in her maternal Andalucian home, painted the year before she died when her little daughter was but eight years old. Rachel had been raised by her grandmother who hated all things English.

Two years ago, when Rachel was fifteen, the grandmother—her only relative in Spain—had died and she was suddenly alone. A strict Catholic, she had applied to the local priest for advice and the good man had been dismayed to find that when all the estate debts were paid there was nothing left for Rachel. The servants in the casa were fiercely protective of their little señorita and one remembered that her mother had once spoken of her husband being related to a great and aristocratic family in England. Enquiries were made and it was established that Rachel did indeed possess powerful paternal links. Various letters were dispatched and received and eventually she had left the warmth and light and colour of Spain for the cold grey coast of Dover. She had been met there by one of John Monterey’s envoys and so transported to Abbey Hall near London.

John, although he acknowledged the connection with Rachel’s father and was anxious to do his duty, was very old now, very sick and felt he had shot his last bolt in this world in arranging for his dead son’s daughter to take her place in society. In her one interview with her great-uncle, Rachel had had the impression that the poor man was simply awaiting death, content to allow his well-run estate to run down and his granddaughter to reign supreme in his manor.

Through Katherine, Rachel had been made aware of her status—that of poor relation, a well-born beggar who should be overwhelmingly grateful for each poor scrap tossed her way. She had learned this lesson well over the last year and arrived at Maiden Court at the end of this brilliant June day knowing her place.

Accordingly, as Katherine was welcomed and made much of by the Latimars, Rachel withdrew respectfully to the fire hearth and sat down. She was glad to do so for her boots were her cousin’s cast-offs and both too short and too wide. She had ridden the miles from Abbey Hall on another cast-off: poor shambling Primrose had been Katherine’s first real mount and was now pensionable. Every stitch of clothing on Rachel’s body and in her battered trunk was also second-hand, either too shabby or outdated to interest their first owner. Never mind, Rachel thought, looking around this new place with interest. The great thing is I am clothed and fed and housed.

On the journey here she had witnessed sights to make her shudder. Beggars, ragged and starving and desperate. The girls had been sent to Maiden Court with three sturdy grooms and they had thrown coins to these scarecrows and frowned over their misery. The Lady Katherine had shrugged her shoulders and frowned in a different way. She disliked such evidence of suffering because it offended her eye, not her heart. I am no better than those beggars, Rachel had thought miserably, wishing she had something to give them, no better than these pathetic examples of abandoned humanity and much less deserving of pity for at least I have a place in the world, however insignificant. She was vastly surprised, therefore, to feel a gentle hand on her arm now in this stronghold of plenty when Lady Bess Latimar came to ask her how she did, and to offer her wine.

“You are a Monterey cousin?” Bess enquired, sitting in the other chair at the hearth.

“Very distant,” Rachel agreed mutedly. “Scarcely related at all. I had always lived in Spain, but when my grandmother died the Earl took me in. It was very kind of him,” she added dutifully.

Bess, sensitive always to others, thought she understood the painful vibration she had received on first meeting Rachel. “It is not easy to lose a loved one, or to be uprooted to another country; the two combined must have been very painful.” Rachel stared into her glass without speaking. “In so little time,” Bess went on, “you have done wonderfully to master a new language so thoroughly.”

“My…mother had an English lady as companion.

She stayed with us and we always spoke English when together. She was glad to do so because she missed her home so much.” And how my grandmother had always hated that, Rachel thought wryly.

Bess settled herself more comfortably in her chair. She was a good listener, and would be interested to hear this girl’s story. She said, “You have very unusual looks. Were both your parents English?”

“They were, but my maternal grandmother was Spanish. When my father died my mother lived with her and Spain became her home. I was born there and it was very…dear to me. An unpopular sentiment in this country and in these times, I know.” Spain and all things Spanish were viewed with a distrust bordering on the obsessive by the English. Its religion was outlawed and its converts and devotees subject by law to charges of high treason. Rachel’s slim fingers touched the outline of the gold cross slipped within her bodice.

Bess had seen the movement. “You are Catholic?”

Rachel lowered her wide eyes. “Not officially, naturally—out of respect to the family who kindly gave me a haven. But when I arrived the Earl of Monterey asked me the same question and then said no one should insist I attend the Abbey Hall prayers.” This was a considerable concession actually, for those who did not practise the Protestant faith were viewed with extreme suspicion, as were those who condoned such a lack.

“You do not call the Earl…Grandfather…or Great-uncle?” Bess asked.

“Oh, no! Katherine said that would be most inappropriate.”

On her arrival at Abbey Hall, confused and terrified and taken immediately to confront an elderly gentleman, so sick and grey-looking against the mountainous white pillows, Rachel had run to the bed, eager to embrace her new family with the whole of her warm nature. Looking at her, even John—so weary and tired of trying to face each day—had brightened before such entrancing life. Katherine, who had been present, had soon put a stop to that, keeping her cousin away from John and his few visitors.

“Oh, but surely—” Bess began, then caught herself up. It was not her concern, naturally. She knew Monterey very well—her daughter Anne had once been courted by his older son, who had been a poor heir to such a fine man, and she and Harry had retained friendly relations since. She looked thoughtfully over at Katherine, holding court with Hal and Piers hanging on her every word, and George’s two sons-in-law annoying their wives by doing the same. Bess returned her eyes to Rachel. Poor little girl! No parents, no brothers or sisters and forbidden even to call her scant-remaining relative fondly. Her sympathy was communicated to Rachel, who took a breath.

“Please don’t feel sorry for me, my lady. I am so lucky, really. On the road here I saw so many far more badly placed. I wish I could have done something for them…”

Brave, too, Bess thought. An admirable sentiment for a girl who had little enough. She sighed and smiled and rose to go into the kitchens to ensure the splendid meal under preparation was progressing well.

As was her habit, Bess ordered the places of those around her table. In the merry confusion, Rachel scarcely noticed who her supper companions were until she was seated with an empty plate before her and a glass of wine to hand. Nervously she sipped the wine and saw that she was to the right of George Latimar and to the left of his brother Hal. George, in his easy pleasant way, helped her to food, saying, “So many Latimars must be quite intimidating for you, my dear.”

Rachel looked at the delicious food. Abbey Hall made the greatest effort when entertaining, but that was rarely these days with its master ill, and usually the housekeeping was fairly mediocre for Katherine was a poor manager and Rachel—who could have helped, for she was an excellent housewife—was never asked for her advice. Everything on the board tonight fulfilled the dual role of pleasing the eye as well as the appetite, she thought. Beautifully cooked spiced meats, green asparagus gleaming with butter, tiny orange fingers of new carrots and fat river fish, baked whole, their scales removed and replaced with costly slivers of almond. There was even—as a separate course—a deep glass dish of salad, its contents glistening with oil and lemon juice: a delicacy Rachel hadn’t seen since leaving Spain where she and her grandmother had often gone out into the warm gardens to gather the leaves and tiny jewel-red tomatoes… “Oh, yes,” she murmured, swallowing with a throat closed by homesickness.

“My mother tells me you have been at Abbey Hall for nearly a year now. One of the Earl’s sons—Tom—was a great friend to me in my youth. ’Tis a beautiful place, I remember, with splendid gardens, once the talk of the countryside.”

“Yes, sir,” Rachel said, thinking of the remains of what had obviously been a showpiece of horticultural beauty, now run to ruin without care and attention from its mistress. Too cold! Too rainy! Too boring…Such was Katherine’s opinion of any outdoor activity. A silence fell.

“Are you not hungry? My mother prides herself on her fine food,” George tried again. Rachel lifted her eyes to his face, noticing, even as she blinked away the memory of a mass of vivid blooms which had jostled each other in splendour around her bedroom window every summer of her life before she was banished from her home, how like his father he was and, in turn, his mother. Looking about the table, she saw Latimar features produced again and again: the unusual height in both men and women, the extreme slenderness, the fine eyes—of whatever colour—and the clear pale skin. And, especially, the peculiar vivacity of manner. They all had these traits, in some degree or another, but by some strange alchemy it had been distilled in Hal Latimar. He was, Rachel mused absently, the most perfect human being she had ever encountered.

“Well…” George was smiling at both her perusal and sudden thoughtfulness “…do you approve of us?”

She smiled tentatively in return. “You are a very good-looking family.”

He inclined his head. “Thank you. Tomorrow you will inspect the next generation. I am a grandfather, you know, and scarcely believe it.” At ease now, Rachel began to eat, relaxing and offering a comment here and there. At length George turned to his mother on his other side and Rachel glanced sideways at Hal.

Hal had spent the meal so far staring at Katherine. Part of the effect she was having upon him was the extraordinary excitement he felt because it was so long since he had been so immediately attracted to a woman: she was very different from the women he was used to—so vital and fresh, as well as so beautiful. Throughout the meal she had shared her favours between Piers Roxburgh and Harry Latimar. Piers seemed as struck with her as his best friend, and Harry, with a lifetime’s association with the great and glamorous behind him, was plainly enjoying her company. “I beg your pardon?” Hal turned courteously to Rachel as she spoke.

“I was just remarking how very fond your family seem to be of each other. I have seldom heard so much laughter and happy conversation.”

“Oh, yes, we are all good friends. We do not see much of my sister and her husband, but letters are exchanged on a regular basis and George and his family are near enough to be a part of our life here.” He again allowed his gaze to centre on Katherine and Rachel fell silent. For a brief time, while she was speaking with George, she had felt interesting and worth noticing. Now she was back to feeling the tolerated onlooker. The outsider of any group.

After the meal there was a general move towards the parlour and Rachel came to Bess’s side and asked leave to retire. “’Tis a family party,” she murmured. “I have no place there.” Bess was swift to hear the desolation in her voice, and gave her a thoughtful glance. Rachel’s looks, the set of her head and firm chin, somehow did not match the uncertainty of her manner. There is good blood there, Bess mused, and she reminds me…A memory from the distant past tugged at her.

“My lady?” Rachel was bearing the scrutiny meekly enough, but her expressive eyes darkened. She is judging me, she thought, as all in her position must do when confronted by someone like me.

“You may go to your rest, of course,” Bess said, “but I would be pleased if you would stay for the rest of the festivities.”

“In that case…” Rachel’s smile flashed out.

The impression of having known her, or someone very like her once, grew stronger in Bess, although she could not think who it was. It would return to her—these days her memory was not what it was. Meanwhile, she led the way into the parlour where she and Harry received gifts and more good wishes. Later the family caught up with the news.

George and Hal sat on the long settle. Hal had been a baby when George married his love, Judith; in his growing years his older brother had been raising his family and frequently away in Elizabeth Tudor’s court. As George began to spend less time in the royal residences, Hal had completed his training, received his silver spurs and duly been taken up by the Queen. He and George saw little of each other, but were very good friends.

“So, little brother,” George said now. “How is it with you? You look fit.” It was an understatement, he thought wryly, for he had never seen such an example of fair and handsome youth.

“I am,” agreed Hal. “You look fine yourself, George. I am sorry not to see Anne here tonight. Is she well, do you think?”

“I know she is.” George and Anne were twins—the one always knew the other’s feelings and state. “I think if she could speak to you now, she would say: I wish I could be at Maiden Court, but my beloved husband and children need me.”

Hal glanced at him; he would not argue with one who knew what he was talking about. “Yes…well. What think you of our visitors?”

“Katherine Monterey and her handmaiden? I think Katherine a very beautiful girl.”

Hal turned to him. “So do I! She is lovely, is she not? And also sweet.”

George considered. He knew Katherine, of course—as the niece of one of the greatest friends of his youth, Tom Monterey, he had taken an interest in her. He knew his parents had been asked to present her when she was old enough. He also had known her father—Ralph—a court favourite and dead these long years. Ralph had sued for Anne Latimar’s hand and George had been greatly relieved when the projected match had foundered for he had had no liking for the attractive unscrupulous courtier. Was his only daughter like him, George wondered, or like her grandfather, who had been as fine an example of stalwart English gentleman as could be found? He said, “Piers seems to share your enthusiasm.” Piers had drawn up a chair close to Katherine’s and was holding earnest conversation with her. Hal frowned.

“I think I have made it clear this night, even after knowing her so short a time, my regard for Katherine,” he added stiffly, “Piers is my friend.”

“Friendship is the first thing cast overboard when a woman gets between two men,” George said mildly. There was a short silence, during which Hal’s fair face darkened. Piers was certainly doing all he could to charm Katherine, he thought cynically, with the kind of performance he only usually put on for a lady who might advance his static career. Obviously he had registered the name of Monterey—He rose abruptly. “Excuse me, brother.” As he moved purposely across the floor, his mother touched his sleeve.

“Hal, my dear, I was speaking to Rachel earlier of our small innovation here at Maiden Court. The Queen’s Rest, you know. She expressed a wish to see it, and I thought we would go now. Come with us, won’t you?” Hal looked down at her blankly. “I need a little air,” Bess went on.

For a moment she thought he would refuse, but he smiled and said, “Very well, Mother. I will ask Piers and Katherine to join us.” He bowed before Katherine and leaned to offer his invitation. She shook her curls and protested how comfortable she was. Hal looked at Piers. “You will escort us, won’t you, Piers?”

“Thank you, but no, my friend. I would not leave such a charming lady unattended.” Katherine gave Hal a mischievous look, then fixed her marvellous eyes once again on Piers. Hal turned on his heel.