‘A ride, perhaps? We could ride along the river a ways?’ he said.
‘Oh, yes! Let’s,’ Alice agreed at once. ‘It’s always so long between your visits. Must we cut this one short so soon?’
‘There simply isn’t the time, child.’ Alice and Jonathan were visibly crestfallen at this news. ‘Come, Jonathan, we must be back to Box for suppertime.’
‘But, at least I might show you our new sow? I will not spoil my shoes – I can borrow Bridget’s pattens. Come and see her – she is the fattest creature you ever laid eyes upon!’ Alice urged.
‘Come and see the sow? Why on earth-’
‘I should like to see her,’ Jonathan interrupted his grandfather. His eyes were on Alice, and they shone. ‘Very much. I mean, if she truly is as fat as you say,’ he added, lamely.
‘Oh, very well.’ Lord Faukes sighed. ‘Alice, please take my grandson to see the pig. I hope her corpulence does not detain you both for very long. I shall stay here, in the warm, and have another piece of Bridget’s excellent shortbread.’ The old man shook his head and sat back down again, lacing his hands across his middle.
Bridget handed the plate of shortbread to Starling to take through to Lord Faukes, but Starling wasn’t paying attention. She was watching as Jonathan helped Alice into her cloak; watching how Alice steadied herself with a hand placed lightly on his shoulder as she slid her feet into the pattens, even though Starling had seen her perform the same action without aid a dozen times or more. They did not look at her, or ask her to come with them to the pigsty. They went out into the yard side by side, deep in conversation, walking so close together that from time to time their sleeves brushed. There seemed to be a circle around them, a wall that nothing else might scale or penetrate; and outside that circle the world suddenly felt a little colder.
‘Like a pair of moonstruck calves,’ Bridget muttered, puckering her lips as she closed the door behind them. ‘Run along with that plate, child. Don’t keep Lord Faukes waiting. He is your master, now.’ Starling did as she was told, then ran to the upstairs window from which the pigsty was visible, behind the house. There stood Jonathan and Alice, paying no heed to the saddleback sow which had come to the rail to see if there was food. All of their attention was on each other. Starling watched them steadily, never blinking, trying to decide if she would love or hate this Jonathan Alleyn for the way he held Alice spellbound.
1821
After their argument over Duncan Weekes, Rachel felt strange and constrained around her husband. She had begun to understand just how much bad blood lay between them, but if Duncan Weekes had been responsible for Richard’s mother’s death, surely he would have been punished by law? She pictured the old man, with his fumbling steps and almost desperately kind compliments, and the fathomless sadness in his eyes. Could it possibly be true? She longed to know. Here was something she and her husband shared, after all – the loss of a beloved mother. She knew very well how that pain could linger. She wanted him to know that she understood his suffering, that sharing it might ease it. That he should lose his father at the same time seemed too hard, but had she any right to attempt to reconcile them, if blame truly lay with the old man?
So Rachel could almost understand why Richard had been so angry with her for talking to Duncan Weekes. Almost, but not quite, since she couldn’t have known his grievance. He has his mother’s temper, the father said. Do such tempers not burn out as quickly as they flare? But with his eyes snapping and his face tensed up in fury, she’d hardly recognised him; the thought of it made her bite her tongue when her instinct was to raise the subject and talk it through calmly, as husband and wife. Richard seemed to sense her thoughts, and was wary, watchful; tensed as if ready to berate her again. This as much as anything kept her silent. But then when he’d come home on Tuesday with an invitation for them both, and a delighted expression on his face, all memory of the trouble between them seemed forgotten. Rachel had felt knots of worry in her stomach relax. You have your whole life to come to understand his grief. You need not rush him.
After their midday meal on Thursday, they made ready.
‘Do hurry, Rachel. We are to be there at four o’clock, and we dare not be late.’ Richard was agitated as he tugged his cravat into a more voluminous shape, and brushed crisply at traces of sawdust on his coat sleeves.
‘My dear, it’s not yet ten past three, and a matter of twenty minutes’ walk from here to there…’
‘Do you intend to gallop there? You can’t arrive glowing and gasping for breath, with your hair all loose like some blowsabella, Rachel!’
‘I have no intention of galloping, I assure you,’ she said coolly. Sensing her tone, Richard stopped correcting his outfit and came over to her. He put his hands on her arms, and squeezed gently. His expression was sweet, almost boyish. An excited flush suffused his face.
‘Of course you don’t. I am only trying to impress upon you the… importance of this acquaintance. Mrs Alleyn is a very great lady, much esteemed in the highest circles of Bath society. She has been something of a patroness to me; a loyal client of exquisite taste, since the very early days of my business…’
‘Yes, all this you have already said, and I am delighted to be invited to meet her.’
‘I’m delighted too. I had not heard from her in some time… not from her personally, though the household continues to buy its port and wine only through me. It’s you, Rachel.’ He gave her a little shake, breaking into a smile. ‘You have occasioned this invitation. And now we are invited as guests into as fine a house as you will ever have seen… Well,’ he corrected himself, perhaps remembering her upbringing and her employment at Hartford Hall. ‘As fine a house in Bath, anyway. I do hope she approves.’
‘Of me?’
‘Indeed,’ said Richard, returning to the mirror and recommencing with his tie.
‘As do I,’ Rachel murmured, suddenly more nervous than she had been. And if she does not, what then? asked the echo in her head, mischievously. Rachel hushed it.
However excited her husband seemed, she, who knew a little more of higher society and its workings, had no doubt that their invitation was some form of continued patronage. They were like as not invited as vassals, rather than as esteemed guests, but she decided then to make as good an impression as she could. He hopes to impress this Mrs Alleyn with me, so let me play my part as best I can. She put on her fawn cotton dress again, though it was too lightweight for the weather, and draped a tasselled shawl – soft grey, patterned with sprigged roses – around her shoulders. She took her mother’s pearl earrings from her trinket box and screwed them securely to her ears.
‘Do you think she might not approve, then?’ Rachel couldn’t help asking, as they left the house at last. To her chagrin, Richard seemed to consider the question for a moment. Seeing her expression, he smiled.
‘Please don’t worry, my dear. It’s only that… the lady has had great difficulties to suffer, in spite of her grand station in life. She can be somewhat… hesitant, to warm to people. But I am sure she will warm to you, dear Mrs Weekes.’
‘What difficulties has she suffered?’ Rachel asked. She saw a tiny flicker of impatience cross Richard’s face, but then he took a deep breath.
‘Rumours abound, so perhaps it will be better that I tell you the full truth, as I understand it. Some ten or twelve years back, I forget the exact time, it emerged that her son – her only child – had been engaged in secret to a most inappropriate girl, even though he was intended for another from birth…’