The House Of Allerbrook. Valerie Anand

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СКАЧАТЬ swear it’s why my hair’s goin’ badger-grey afore its time. Pert, forward brat, Peter was. Played truant when I put ’un to school—I was sent for to deal with ’un more than once. Got him a post as a page at the French court later on, and he behaved so bad, he ended up demoted to stable boy.”

      “Peter’s doing well now, though,” said Lady Joan mildly, also licking sugar off her fingers but with more delicacy than Mary Stone. “He’s in England, at the royal court. He went into the French army when he was old enough and we heard nothing of him for so long, we thought he was dead, and then he just came home one day! What a surprise!”

      “If he’s made good, it’s because I stood no nonsense and nor did the Frenchies,” said Sir William. “And you can’t stand for this, Sweetwater. I don’t say throw her on the parish, but you can’t keep her at home. We wouldn’t. We might take the child in if one of our men sires a bastard, we support it or give it a home—our blood, after all. But the woman has to shift for herself. That’s how the world is.”

      “Marry her off, that’s the best thing,” said Stone.

      “Yes,” Francis said. “We’d thought of that. The only problem is, who can we find to marry her? Andrew Shearer obviously can’t.”

      “What was that you said about his wife hitting ’un with a frypan?” enquired Sir William Carew with interest. “Just what happened when you went to see the Shearers, Francis?”

      “I told Shearer what I thought of him, seducing a young girl—and his landlord’s sister at that—at the christening of his own son,” said Francis. “He started denying it and suggesting that maybe he hadn’t been the only one…you know the sort of thing…”

      There were nods and murmurs of Aye, we know, we’ve all heard that one.

      “That I knew wasn’t true,” Francis continued. “Oh, Sybil’s a silly girl, too easily impressed. We think now that it’s as well she isn’t going to court—too many temptations there! But I watch over my sisters and she’s had little chance to play the fool, and in any case, she’s not a liar. And the timing’s right, if she’s to have the babe in August, as she says. Eleanor here says that by the look of her, August is very likely right.”

      “Yes. That christening party fits in,” Eleanor said.

      “So I told Shearer I believed her and not him and aimed a punch at him. He hit back and we were fighting in the kitchen when his wife came charging in—and I do mean charging.” For a moment, despite the unhappy situation, Francis grinned. “In she came, like a whole squadron of cavalry. I’ve been a-listening! So you’ve been at it again, have you, you lecherous hound! That’s what she said. Then she grabbed a frying pan off a hook on the wall and landed him a beauty on top of his head. He sat down on the floor looking dazed and I said to her, sorry, but the two of them had to pack up and be off the farm double-quick. I want new, decent tenants. She cried and he sat there rubbing his head and cursing but I wouldn’t give in. They’ve kin in Barnstaple and that’s where they’re going. The stock’s theirs. I settled to sell the animals and send them the money. I never want to see or hear of them again after that. I gathered from a few more remarks his wife threw at him that he’s left other by-blows scattered around.”

      “Lively goings-on,” remarked Ralph. “But as for finding the girl a husband…”

      “Got an unmarried tenant that might do?” Sir William enquired.

      “Harry Hudd’s a widower,” said Eleanor. “He rents Rixons, down the hill from here. He’s looking for another wife. Only…”

      “I know Harry,” Francis said. “He’s a rough type but he’s respectable. As his landlord, I could order him—or pay him—but he wouldn’t like the kind of talk there’d be if he married a girl in Sybil’s condition. There’d be folk saying it must be his, for one thing, and for another, he’s not the sort to want to rear another man’s child. No, I can’t offer Sybil to Hudd. It’s not fair on him.”

      Neither of the Lanyons had so far commented, though they had gone on whispering to each other. Owen Lanyon now spoke up.

      “I’ve a suggestion. Not about marriage—I don’t know anyone suitable and I’m not offering Idwal here.” Idwal, who had been looking worried, passed a hand over his fiery hair in a gesture of relief. “But we live at Lynmouth, a good way off—nigh on twelve miles if you’re a crow and farther on a horse. No one there’ll know who Sybil is. She can come to us.”

      “Are you sure? That’s a very generous offer,” Francis said.

      “She’s old enough to have been married.” Katherine, straight of back and stout of midriff, though not as massively so as Mary Stone, nodded in agreement. “We could say that she’s a distant kinswoman, which she is, and that she’s a young widow. That smallpox last year took a lot of lives.”

      “We’ll not make a pet of her—don’t think that,” Owen said. “What she’s done was wrong and she has to realize it. But we won’t ill-treat her either, or her baby. They’ll have a home with us. Katherine can always use another pair of hands about the house. What about it?”

      Jane cleared her throat and they all turned. “You want to say something, Jane?” said Francis.

      “Need Sybil go away forever?” Jane asked. “If…if Master and Mistress Lanyon could look after her until the baby’s born, and if, maybe, we can find someone who’d like to foster the child, couldn’t Sybil come back then? She’s my sister. I’ll miss her so much and she’ll feel so unhappy, cast out from her home.”

      “You’d have missed her if she went to court, and as for being unhappy, she’s brought that on herself,” said Francis. “No, Jane. Sybil must leave this house, and for good. Your affection for your sister is creditable, of course, but I shall not change my mind. What our parents would have said to her behaviour, I shudder to think.”

      “We have an answer now, at least,” said Eleanor. “We are grateful, Master Lanyon.” Looking around, she saw Peggy hovering restively at the door to the kitchen. “I think,” she said, “that the feast is ready.”

      * * *

      Dinner had been served at half past two. It was not as prolonged as it would have been in more cheerful circumstances. The meal was over inside two hours. However, the March darkness still fell quite early and most of the guests were to stay overnight and leave in the morning. Only the Stones went home that evening, since they had to go only a mile down the combe to Clicket. After they had gone, Francis discovered that Jane had slipped out of the house. He found her leaning on the gate of the field where the Sweetwaters grazed their horses.

      “So here you are. I was afraid you’d gone roaming up to the ridge, and it’s too late in the day for that.”

      “I just wanted to be by myself for a while,” Jane said. Against the background of tussocky grass and grazing horses and soaring moorland, her damask finery was incongruous.

      The narrow path from the rear of the house led past the small mews where Francis kept his two hawks and on past the field to join the track that ran up the side of the combe to the ridge. There the Allerbrook River had its springs in a spongy bog, and there were ring ouzels and curlews, and occasionally an adder slipping away through the grass from the sound of hooves or footfalls. Sybil, who was lazy, never walked up to the ridge, but Jane sometimes СКАЧАТЬ