‘Mrs Alleyn.’ Richard bowed deeply, so deeply that Rachel glanced at him in surprise. He’d shut his eyes, and seemed to gather himself. What does he fear? ‘Please allow me the honour of presenting my wife, Mrs Rachel Weekes,’ he said, as he straightened up at last. Mrs Alleyn came a few steps closer to them, smiling graciously. At once, Rachel noticed her great beauty, and was about to curtsy when the older woman halted, and her smile faltered.
‘Good heavens,’ she murmured indistinctly, pressing the back of one hand to her lips. Her eyes grew very wide.
‘Madam, are you unwell?’ Richard asked, stepping forward to offer his arm. Mrs Alleyn waved him away.
‘I am quite well.’ She stared at Rachel for a few seconds more, silent, until Rachel, bewildered, made her postponed curtsy and said:
‘It is an honour to meet you, Mrs Alleyn.’ Do I shock her, somehow? Does she think she knows me?
‘Well,’ said the older lady. ‘Well. A pleasure, Mrs Weekes. Please accept my blessings on your recent marriage.’
‘You are most kind, Mrs Alleyn.’
‘Do come and sit down,’ said Mrs Alleyn, and with each moment that passed she regained more composure, until Rachel grew unsure of her first intuition – that it was something about her own appearance that had given the lady pause.
The conversation moved politely from the change in the weather to Richard’s business, and who was coming to Bath for the season. Mrs Alleyn gave all the names and addresses she could think of, providing Richard with a list of potential clients.
‘I shall mention you to them, when I write,’ she said.
‘You have my thanks, as ever, Mrs Alleyn. I have a shipment recently arrived into Bristol of a very fine Bordeaux wine, one of the best I have ever tasted.’
‘Ah! How wonderful. Jonathan will not be pleased, but I cannot change my tastes in this: it is the finest-flavoured wine to be had.’
‘Jonathan must be your son, Mrs Alleyn? Does he not care for Bordeaux wine?’ said Rachel. There was a tiny pause, and Richard gave her a look of mute appeal that told her she had erred in some way.
‘My son fought the French in Spain and Portugal, Mrs Weekes. And though he accepts that the war is now over, he cannot be reconciled to the old enemy. He would prefer that I buy wine from Spain, or Germany.’
‘And the King would agree with him, for the crown tariffs on French wine still greatly limit our imports.’
‘I can’t see what is to be gained in bearing such grudges,’ Mrs Alleyn said with a sigh. ‘But I am in the minority, I am well aware. An acquaintance recently wrote to chastise me for tactlessness! But I fail to see why we should have to drink unspeakable rotgut from Spain, and allow the French to keep all of the Bordeaux for themselves! It seems a curiously backward way to punish them, in my opinion.’
‘You are quite right, Mrs Alleyn,’ Richard agreed, readily. ‘And it grieves me also.’
‘But it keeps the prices high,’ she said, smiling knowingly. Richard shifted uncomfortably. ‘Oh, I understand how business works, you need not look shamefaced. And I trust you not to charge an overly inflated price. To me, in any case; though I must buy in small amounts, and hide it from Jonathan.’ She smiled again, but this time the expression was colder.
‘Does your son live here with you, then, Mrs Alleyn? I had not realised,’ said Rachel. Again came a pause, a significant look from Richard. ‘It must be a comfort to you, to… have him so near to you,’ she stumbled on.
‘Indeed,’ said Mrs Alleyn, tersely. ‘I quit our house in Box after my father died. It was far too large for a woman alone, and I thought that the city would offer more opportunities for society and company. When he had recuperated from the war my son joined me here.’ The words came in such a frigid tone that Rachel found no way to reply. The silence stretched on, and Mrs Alleyn watched her without blinking. When Rachel tried to find something light and innocuous to say, she found her mind entirely blank.
Eventually, Mrs Alleyn turned her unsettling gaze to Richard, and asked after his progress with an introduction she had made. Rachel breathed more easily, and decided not to speak again, however many times Richard turned, and smiled, and urged some comment from her. She held her tongue, and smiled politely, and tried not to notice the way Mrs Alleyn kept glancing at her, almost reluctantly, as if she couldn’t help herself. Rachel saw an inexplicable mixture of calculation and curiosity in her eyes, and it increased the feeling she already had of the house being watchful. She was glad when, after forty minutes or so, Mrs Alleyn dismissed them with exquisite good manners. As they crossed the hallway once again, a flash of movement and colour caught Rachel’s eye. Through a narrow door behind the main staircase, where the back stairs led down to the cellars, a servant was watching them – a red-haired girl with long eyes and a keen expression. With a start, Rachel recognised her as the girl who’d served them, just the once, at their wedding feast. The girl who’d also paused and stared at her peculiarly, just as Mrs Alleyn had.
‘I did advise you not to ask about her son, did I not?’ said Richard, as they walked away down Lansdown Road.
‘No. You did not,’ said Rachel. ‘You said only to mention nothing of the misfortune that befell him with the girl he was engaged to… I thought Mrs Alleyn might like to speak of him, since I gathered she has little opportunity to.’
‘The whole subject of her son is one she feels most acutely. Perhaps too acutely to discuss with a new acquaintance.’
‘Well, how could I know if you didn’t warn me?’ said Rachel, rattled. She felt uneasy in a way she couldn’t explain. The lady thought she knew this face. Something about that realisation gave her a peculiar, expectant thrill. ‘Mr Weekes – I think I just saw the serving girl from the Moor’s Head, working there as a servant.’
‘Sadie?’ He shook his head. ‘I’m sure not.’
‘No, the other one. The one who served the wine one time, and spilled it on my hand. You must remember – the red-haired girl?’
‘No. There’s only Sadie working there at the inn, and why would she be at the Alleyns’ house on Lansdown Crescent?’
‘I do not say that I saw Sadie, I say that I saw the other girl… I’m sure of it,’ Rachel insisted.
‘Well. I’m sure you must be mistaken. I saw nobody. You did well, though, my dear. I’m sure Mrs Alleyn approved of you.’
‘I am not so sure. She watched me most peculiarly, and you must have noticed when you introduced me – how startled she seemed. Do you think she thought she recognised me from somewhere?’
‘How could she recognise you, my dear? I did tell you that she is not always the easiest company. I’m sure she wasn’t watching you with anything other than the curiosity of making a new acquaintance…’
‘It startled me to learn that her son was there above us all the time, hidden away.’
‘Yes – forgive me. I thought you’d understood. His infirmity goes beyond a mere darkening of the spirits – he was injured in the war as well. One leg is all but useless, and he suffers terrible headaches, I am told. Pains that last for days, and obliterate all thought.’
‘Poor man,’ Rachel murmured.
‘As I said, I have seen him but once or twice in all the years since his downfall. He is a strange and difficult man, impossible to know.’
‘Such suffering might make any one of us strange or difficult.’
‘You have such a kind heart, my dear,’ Richard said, squeezing her hand where it rested on his arm. He seemed to have relaxed in the short distance that they’d walked from the Alleyns’ house, his nerves dissipating to leave him buoyant, almost jubilant. ‘She is a fine lady, is she not?’ he said, smiling. ‘And beautiful, though none so lovely as you.’