Читать книгу Madrilene's Granddaughter - Laura Cassidy - Страница 9

On her way back to the manor Rachel thought, Hal Latimar! He had said last night, “Don’t tell my mother”, yet he had done so himself at the first opportunity and caused upset to that kind woman and—what?—to herself. Yesterevening she had received kindness and sympathy from Bess; for the first time since landing on England’s cold coast she had felt that someone actually cared. Now it was all spoiled. Rachel entered the hall, raging with the injustice of the situation. Whatever her grandmother had done was nothing to do with her, it had been done and decided before she was born. Tears filled her eyes.

“Why, whatever is wrong?” Hal was standing just inside the door.

“You should know!” Rachel returned furiously. Judith, George’s wife, joined them, looking into the trug at the roses.

“Why, you did not do so well. Where is my mother-in-law?”

“Still in the gardens,” Rachel said indistinctly. “She no longer wished me to help her.” Judith looked out.

“I’ll go and help her. Find a receptacle for those, will you, Rachel?”

Rachel brushed past Hal. Yes, she would find a receptacle. That she could so, for that was her function—to be nothing more than a servant arranging flowers. Hal followed her.

“What do you mean, I should know?” he asked her at the kitchen door.

“Please stand aside. I must find a…receptacle.”

“My lady mother does not keep her flower bowls and such in the kitchen, but in a cupboard in the parlour. I will show you.”

Grimly she followed him to the parlour and selected a bronze bowl from those he showed her. Hal called for a maid and asked her to fill it with water. Rachel still held the basket gripped in her two hands. He removed it and set it on the floor.

“Now, what is this all about? Why are you so upset?” he asked again.

“You told your lady mother about what we talked of last night,” she accused him.

“I did not. I have just this moment come in from the stables and have not seen her yet this day. Besides—what if I had? Why should it matter so to you?”

“Why?” Rachel turned her eyes, tearful and brilliant, on him. “Because she was so kind to me last night and now looks upon me with disfavour. Extreme disfavour.”

Through the open door Hal could hear Katherine’s distinctive voice and Piers Roxburgh’s deeper tones. He had no time to waste with this girl’s fancies. Impatiently he said, “Well, if you walk about life looking as if you expected it to take a stick to your back, you can be sure it will. The real world is not…kind, or…favourable, Rachel. One must hold one’s head high and learn to keep one’s pride.”

Rachel was outraged. “I beg your pardon? I hardly think you are the best judge of that!”

Hal considered her for a moment in silence, then said slowly, “Why? Because you perhaps think, as so many do: there goes Hal Latimar—good looks, good breeding, wealth, competent skills in all the courtly arts and a proud ancestry? Fortunate man! But, my dear girl, where I have chosen to make my way there are dozens better bred, scores better heeled, and hundreds more comely. The one advantage I have over any of them is my heritage of the Tudor monarchs’ penchant for Latimars. And that is a card I would disdain to lay.” There was a heartbeat’s pause in which she, in turn, considered him, guessing this was a side of the golden Latimar boy he rarely exposed. It was interesting, and so was his first comment to her.

“Do I really look as you described?”

“Indeed you do. When you entered the hall last night you looked for all the world as if you expected to be banished with all speed to the servants’ quarters.”

The unshed tears were still present in her eyes. She blinked them away. “Is that so surprising?” she asked with a catch in her voice. “It is hard to be me, you know. With no one do I come first now. Or even second or third.”

“Yes, well,” he said uncomfortably, “I can see it must be difficult to spend so much of your time with someone so incomparably beautiful and talented as your cousin.”

That was not what she had meant at all! Annoyed, she retorted, “My mother was ten times more lovely and talented, and she treated those who served her with the same respect they granted her.”

“I am sure you intend no criticism,” he said coldly. “I assume you have some gratitude towards the Lady Katherine,” he said the name with reverence, “for welcoming you into her home and making you her friend.”

“We are not friends—” Rachel bit back her next words which would have been bitterly lacking in “gratitude”. Many times in the last year she had thought, Some keep a dog they can kick when the mood takes them, Katherine keeps me for this purpose. There was a rustle of silk at the door and Katherine herself appeared in the doorway. She wore a gown of amber satin, almost an exact match for her eyes, and flashing diamonds at her throat and in her ears. Inappropriate, Rachel thought, for a midday meal where children would be present, but Katherine often displayed poor taste in an area where any true lady would have been adept.

“Hal; so this is where you are hiding yourself,” Katherine said in her attractively husky voice. She moved aside to allow the maid to bring in the bowl and place it on the table, then picked up the basket of roses and began to transfer them. “Mmm, how sweetly they smell.” Rachel and Hal watched the slender white hands deal with the defenceless blooms with differing thoughts. Every movement she makes is graceful, Hal thought. Every situation is turned to her advantage, Rachel thought.

“Now, where had you thought to put these?” Katherine turned to Rachel. Having come upon her cousin and an attractive young man in intimate conversation, she now sought to put Rachel firmly back into her place.

“I will take them through to the hall,” Rachel said resignedly. She picked up the heavy bowl. Piers, who had come in unobserved, sprang forward and took it from her.

“Allow me, my lady, this is much too heavy for you. Show me where you would like it placed.”

When the two had gone, Katherine laughed and said ruefully, “Now Piers will think me unkind. Actually, Rachel often makes me feel in that unhappy state. And yet I am sure I do my very best to please her.”

“She is a prickly girl,” he agreed.

“When she arrived, last year, she was quite haughty,” Katherine said, sighing. “I remember my grandfather remarking that she behaved as one might expect visiting royalty to do.”

A faint warning bell sounded in Hal’s head. He had met the Earl only a few times some years ago, but thought it a strange observation for the man he remembered to make. “It is hard to believe the Lady Rachel could ever have felt secure enough to behave so,” he said thoughtfully.

Katherine, aware she had made a mistake, recouped it deftly. “Ah, well, I suppose her grandmother made her feel like a little princess—Rachel’s parents died many years ago and there were no other children. Brothers and sisters make a difference, I should imagine. As you will know, I think.”

Hal smiled, the moment of uncertainty faded and he took her arm. “I do indeed. Shall we join the others?”

The meal was a triumph of delectable fare. Bess was a very good housewife; her kitchens were—as was the rest of the manor—spotlessly clean, her staff industrious and happy, too. In season she delighted in bottling and preserving all the fruits of her flourishing estate. Her gentle but firm hand extended to all parts of her little kingdom and both human and animal creatures who called Maiden Court their home received her compassionate care. No animal was ill treated, no man or woman or child need fear a bitter winter, a failed harvest, an illness or disability.

Tonight the laden table, the gleaming surroundings, gave evidence of her talented husbandry. And all in an atmosphere of willing service, Rachel thought as she came down the stairs, having changed from her riding clothes. On returning to her chamber she had found her only presentable gown laid over her bed, newly sponged and pressed. A cheerful maid had tapped on the door asking if she might “wash and dress my lady’s hair”. The bed linen had been changed, the bowls of fragrant dried flowers renewed.

Descending to the kitchen and offering to help in some way, the fat and jolly cook had asked her if she might like to transfer some of the redcurrant jelly and mint sauce into little bowls for the table.

“My lady does like them with the mutton. And you’ll find the little pots of horseradish that my lady sets up for the beef.”

Exploring the larder, Rachel was transfixed by the rows and rows of jewel-bright sealed glass containers, all with their labels written in Bess Latimar’s careful hand: Quince Jelly, this year of Our Lord 1582; Damson Jam, this year of Our Lord 1583. Rachel turned out the enviably clear jelly and the pungent horseradish into little dishes and took her place at the table where the others were already assembled.

Two great sirloins of beef dominated the table, flanked by two pink hams, baked in honey glaze and spiked with costly cloves. There was fresh white bread to soak up the juices from the beef, a dish of new carrots and another of tiny green peas. There was river fish, baked in their skins, then denuded of them and replaced with slivers of almonds, then returned to the hot oven to brown. After the savouries came the sweetmeats; marchpane and gingerbread and little coffers of pastry filled with sugared currants and topped with yellow cream. Finally came sweet and spicy dried apple rings and walnuts.

The Latimars en masse were merry company and took a lively interest in the two strangers in their midst. Katherine was an immediate favourite, so beautiful and vivacious, and Rachel was perceived to have a charm all her own, particularly when she had relaxed enough to chat shyly to her neighbours. As these neighbours were children she might have earned Bess’s approval, but Bess found herself unable to look at Rachel without seeing another woman entirely.

Hal’s eyes, too, were frequently on Rachel, with irritation rather than approval. Aggravating woman! he thought, she had quite unsettled him earlier, when he especially wanted to feel confident and able to project that confidence to Katherine Monterey. Why had he spoken so personally in the parlour earlier? Why had he spoken of that closely caged demon to her—the fear that came to him on dark nights that he was somehow masquerading as the model of a successful courtier, successful man, that all he really was was the lucky inheritor of generations of favour? He hated to acknowledge this fear, and it was humiliating to have voiced it to another. He also regretted his unkind comment on her personal demeanour, for he also disliked feeling guilty of unkindness.

After the last morsel had been enjoyed they all left the table to play various games suitable to the young guests. Then came the present-giving and Bess and Harry accepted the gifts from the children, gravely appreciating the effort and thought as much as the content. Lastly there was a spirited display of dancing.

Rachel, watching the proceedings from a wide settle by the hearth, said to Hal, who had most reluctantly had to give Katherine up to Piers and so moved out of the line of dancers, “They are all so happy, are they not?”

“Mmm.” Hal looked moodily across at Katherine. She and Piers grew more friendly with each passing moment…An ignominious thought crossed his mind: perhaps if Katherine knew how very impoverished Piers was, she would—Hal was instantly ashamed of this thought. Firstly because it assumed that Katherine cared for such distinction, and secondly because it was a disloyalty to his best friend, for there had never been any division between them regarding estate—at least on his part. Rachel glanced at him.

“You’re not enjoying yourself. Why? Because of Katherine’s performance? It means little, you know, and jealousy only makes you miserable. It’s a very unproductive emotion.” As she said this a premonitionary shiver ran down her spine. She had never been jealous of Katherine for what she had materially—and “jealous’ was the wrong word for the pangs she had always felt that her cousin had her definite place in the world. So why the cold feeling in this warm room now?

Hal sat down and leaned back, saying in answer to her words, “Well, you should know.”

The half-acknowledged thought flashed away and anger took its place. “If you are saying I am jealous of Katherine, then ’tis not true!” she said angrily. “You think that because she has…everything and I nothing. As if I cared for a few baubles and furs. Truly you and she make a good pair!”

Since this was his ambition for the future, it was hard for him to decide why this last statement seemed such an insult. “I don’t understand,” he said abruptly, “why you are always so angry with me. Have I earned such enmity?”

She blinked. He had the habit of making these surprisingly direct remarks, which sat so ill with his usually casually polished conversation. She was startled into forgetting that he had offended her twice with his comments on her character and admitting, “No. It is just that, when I am with you, I feel as if I want to fight with you.”

“Because you think I betrayed your confidence to my mother?” He gave her the straight, blue Latimar look.

“No…for if you tell me you did not, then I believe you.”

A slow smile spread across his fair face. “I am glad of that, for I am a good person to share secrets with. And, actually, I do not have your secret over this, for you told me only meagre details.”

She sighed. “I should not have said even what I did. And how your mother knew…I cannot see how.”

“Why don’t you tell me all about it, Rachel?” Hal folded his arms and looked attentive. Most of his interest was for his parents’ part in the story, certainly, for their past was part of the history of the world he occupied. But some was reserved for Rachel, so nervously engaging. He could not help noticing that the colour coming and going in her face, the light changing in her expressive eyes, improved her looks, already arresting. Also, whatever Rachel Monterey was, she was extraordinarily easy to talk to.

Rachel took a breath, conscious that her cursed tendency to blush was upon her now. She looked down at her clasped hands, then up into Hal’s face. “It was this way…” she began, stopped and began again. “My grandmother, Madrilene, came to the English court when she was but seventeen—the age I am now…She was half-Spanish, half-French and a ward of the old King, Henry. Almost at once she fell in love with your father, who was a good friend of the King. She was—even when I knew her in her old age—a passionate impulsive creature, and must have been more so at that age…Anyway, she saw your father and wanted him, pursued him, I suppose…but he was married to your mother and would not be led astray.” Rachel paused again. This story, told in the house of two of the characters in her tale, was difficult to tell without her grandmother being seen as the villain.

Hal signalled for more wine to be dispensed for himself and Rachel. When it was, he leaned more comfortably against the broad cushions. “Yes? And then what happened?” Rachel was embarrassed, but he was not. He was a sophisticated courtier of the most glamorous court in the world. He had heard it all before—apart from it being more personal on this occasion.

“What happened then,” Rachel said bleakly, “was that my grandmother lost the battle between herself and your father and was dispatched forthwith back to France and from there to Spain, where she found some sort of solace with my grandfather, and her daughter—my mother. That is all,” she ended lamely.

“All? I don’t think so,” Hal said softly. “Otherwise, why should my mother—usually a sensible person—resent you so?”

“Well…” Rachel looked away, then back at him. “Of course that was not…all. For my grandmother never got over him—not having him poisoned her life. And that would not have happened if she had not felt the force of her love was returned in however small a way.”

“That is what my mother felt,” Hal said thoughtfully. “And the resentment she felt for your grandmother is now transferred to you.” He sipped his wine, adding, “I am sorry.”

Rachel smiled wryly. He was sorry. Well, who was not—for her? Poor Rachel Monterey, so well-born, but un-dowered. Poor Rachel, whose father had been a gallant officer of the throne of England, whose mother—so lovely—had chosen badly. Poor Rachel, born into Spain in privileged circumstances, but reduced by her grandmother’s gambling to penury. Poor Rachel, whose only contact, a simple Spanish priest, had said, Dear child—to ensure your future, your personal goods must be sold and you can then go to England, the home of your relatives. You will be a poor girl, but you will be with your family…

“And apart from being a keen horsewoman,” Hal asked, after a moment of watching the varying emotions darken her eyes, “what was your grandmother—Madrilene—like?”

It gave Rachel a strange feeling to hear the name on his lips. In spite of their differing colouring, she thought Hal very like his father. No wonder her grandmother had become so obsessed with a similar attractive creature. “Oh…” She became aware of his enquiring expression. “She was beautiful; even old, when I knew her, the way she walked, the way she used her hands and her vivid presence drew all glances. She was also,” she added wryly, “not to be trusted with a peso when there was any game of chance in prospect. She was rich when she met and married my grandfather, still rich when my mother was alive but…towards the end of her life she had lost it all in one way or another. One way or another usually involving cards or dice, or horse races…well, whatever can be gambled upon.”

Hal laughed. “Well, I can understand that.”

“Are you a gambler?”

Hal didn’t answer. Did he gamble? Yes, he did, it was the ruling passion in his life, or had been until he had set eyes on Katherine Monterey. As this thought struck him, he glanced to the floor where there was now a general move towards the party breaking up. It was well into the early evening and the children needed their rest, they were becoming tearful and cross. George and Judith decided they would stay another night; their children chose to take their little ones home to their own cots. The female adults fluttered about finding outdoor clothing and fitting it on to tired and wailing tots.

Bess and Harry bade a fond farewell to those leaving and Hal was delegated to escort duty. The rest of the family retired to the parlour.

“I think it went very well,” Bess said, relaxing into her chair by the hearth.

“Indeed it did,” Harry agreed, taking his own place near her. Judith dropped a kiss on the top of his head in passing, and put a full glass in his hand. He sipped appreciatively.

“It was lovely,” declared Judith. “Was it not, George?” George agreed, and busied himself finding seats for everyone. He hastened to the door to welcome two latecomers. Katherine had flown up the stairs to her chamber to repair her toilette, and Rachel had been helping to clear the table in the hall. They took their chairs, spread their skirts and raised their glasses to their lips.

Katherine set hers down and spoke. “My dear Lady Bess, you should be very proud of your efforts today. So many guests, such fine food—so much of it prepared by your own hands! It is all very praiseworthy.”

Bess smiled wryly. She wanted no praise for what was a pleasure, and resented the patronising tone the girl used. She had seen how her younger son had reacted to the exquisite Katherine but hoped it was just another case of beauty making its usual impact on Hal’s susceptibility in this area. He had always been so; even as a child he seemed to love the more physically attractive among his small circle, however kind and worthy the others. It was a fault, Bess had always conceded indulgently, but then children were like that. Now Hal was no longer a child, it worried her more, for beauty did not last nearly as long as other qualities and those qualities did not have room to emerge when a woman traded only on her looks, as the lovely Monterey demoiselle did. Bess’s sharp eyes had noticed that Katherine had annoyed most of the ladies tonight by flirting with their men, and—even though it was all in the family today—it was unacceptable behaviour.

Most of Hal’s women, so far, had been like that, Bess mused, her blue eyes wandering over Katherine, who could have come from the same mould. Involuntarily her eyes moved to the girl sitting beside her, then quickly away. Better that known and familiar devil, than the one incalculable in the shape of Rachel. Last night Bess had liked Rachel Monterey, today she saw nothing but her likeness to a distressing phantom from the past.

“What are you thinking of so carefully?” Harry asked her, leaning forward. She smiled to see him so well today. Those attacks of his came and went, and she felt strongly one must make the most of each day of good health.

“That Hal is very taken with Katherine Monterey.”

“Hal is always taken with any female of passing good favour.”

“I think this may be different. After all, she is the granddaughter of an old friend of yours and I feel he would not have made it so plain if he were not serious.”

Harry laughed. “I believe you are right. Our son is not a fool, and John Monterey, despite his disability, is a hard man.” He stretched out his legs, blissfully free of pain today. “What about the other little girl? I rather like her, but understand she is some kind of poor relation to the Montereys, with no means at all.”

“No.”

“But very taking looks, you must admit. Since she came here I have had the strangest feeling—as if I have known her before, although I cannot think where. I’m getting old, I suppose.”