The House Of Allerbrook. Valerie Anand

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СКАЧАТЬ had been given a pillow, stuffed with crackly straw but at least covered in smooth linen because that was the only kind of linen ever found in the Lanyon household. She drew it to her, put her arms around it as though it were a dear friend, pressed her nose into it and cried.

      At Allerbrook Jane, too, had found her daily life subject to change. Eleanor had suddenly begun to discourage her from spending too much time in the open air. “If you’re going to court one day, we don’t want you having a sunburnt complexion. You’ll need to look like a lady. Ladies have pale skin and soft hands and keep their hair tidy. You should be practising your embroidery and music. The standard will be high at court.”

      However, on the July day when Francis went out early with the young groom Tim Snowe and wouldn’t tell Jane where he was going (though Eleanor knew, to judge from her secretive smile), no one seemed to mind what Jane was doing. Eleanor was asking Peggy and the maids to help her move stools and tables about in one of the downstairs rooms off the hall, but she didn’t seem to want her young sister-in-law at all.

      Jane promptly seized the chance to be out of doors, tossing grain to the chickens and geese and searching for eggs, and stealing a walk up to the ridge.

      She was outside again, giving the poultry their evening meal and wondering whether Francis would be back for supper, when he came riding up from the combe on Copper, followed by a surprising procession.

      Just behind him was an elderly man she had never seen before, on a stout, mealynosed Exmoor pony. Next came Tim Snowe, on the Allerbrook pony he usually used and leading a strange pack mule. Behind the mule came two packhorses, each carrying a large package done up in hides and rope. The horses were led by a groom apiece, trudging along on foot and checking every now and then that the package in his care wasn’t slipping.

      “What in the world…?” said Jane, going to the gate, her grain basket on her arm.

      “Oh, there you are, Francis! I was beginning to be anxious, but I see you had to take it slowly,” said Eleanor, appearing from the house. “And is this Master Corby? Welcome, sir. I take it that the packhorses are carrying the new virginals?”

      “Yes, madam,” said the elderly man. “All in good order, we hope and trust. I will assemble the instrument myself.”

      “Please come in. And here is your pupil,” said Eleanor. “This is my sister-in-law, Jane Sweetwater. Make your curtsy, Jane. This gentleman is a musician by profession and he has come to teach you to play the virginals. Proficiency in music is something that you’ll need when you go to court.”

      So it was going to happen, and Francis was so determined to make it happen that he was willing to spend money on virginals and a tutor. Jane, who liked music, didn’t mind learning a new instrument, and Master Corby turned out to be a patient and agreeable instructor. It was the purpose behind the lessons that frightened her.

      Just once she made a further attempt to protest. After she had practised daily on the virginals for a month, Master Corby invited Francis and Eleanor to listen while she played a simple melody. “I think you will be pleased,” he said to them. “A little polishing, and she’ll be an ornament to the court when she gets there.”

      “But,” said Jane, seating herself, gathering up her courage and addressing the keyboard rather than her relatives, “I have no real wish to go to court. I would be so very happy to play music here at home, when anyone wants to dance, or to play at our Christmas and harvest revels. I am not…not eager for advancement in society.”

      “Well,” said Francis, “let us hear how well you perform. Then we will talk privately.”

      Afterward, when Master Corby, with a tactful smile, had left the room, Francis said, “My dear sister, it is time you accustomed yourself to the idea of going to court. Sybil has failed us and you are her natural replacement.”

      “We have been in touch with Ralph Palmer’s cousin, Sir Edmund Flaxton,” said Eleanor. “He has sent commiserations for Sybil’s ill health and he is willing to obtain an appointment for you if he can.”

      Francis nodded. “Do well, attract the right kind of notice, make worthwhile friends and you could become the route by which influence and wealth are drawn toward us all, and you might even find yourself a titled bridegroom!”

      It was no use arguing. Francis could be severe when he was angry. Her duty was being made clear to her. There would be no escape.

      “Broth,” said Katherine Lanyon shortly, putting her head into the kitchen where a pot was bubbling on the trivet over the fire and giving off an appetizing aroma. “Take her some mutton broth, and some hot milk, as well.”

      Withdrawing from the kitchen, she marched into the parlour, stripping off her stained apron as she went. Owen, who was sitting by the window, shirtsleeved in a shaft of sunlight and playing chess against himself, got to his feet. “Is it over already?”

      “Didn’t you hear it squalling? Yes, it’s over,” said Katherine, sitting down on the nearest settle. “Where’s Idwal?”

      “I sent him to the jetty to see that consignment of ironware loaded properly. Well, Sybil hasn’t taken long.”

      “No, she hasn’t! Oh, it’s so unfair!” Katherine cried. “I almost died bringing Idwal into the world. Three days and nights of agony and I’ve never conceived since. Yet I was a decent, honest young wife, bearing her husband’s son. While this little hussy…!”

      “I wouldn’t call her that,” said Owen mildly. “I fancy she only made the one mistake.”

      “That kind of mistake is the same whether it’s once or twenty times!” snapped Katherine. “She deserved what I went through, but does it happen to her? No, it does not. She abandons the dinner table, saying she has a stomachache, and before supper she’s slipped a great big bawling boy into the world as easily as though it were nothing at all, and now she’s sitting up and asking for something to eat, and I’m waiting on her!”

      “What does she want to call him?” Owen asked.

      “Stephen,” she said. “There was a Stephen in the family years ago, it seems, and she likes the name.”

      “Well, if he thrives, he could be an asset to the business one day,” said Owen.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      The Blemished Queen 1535

      The court rarely stayed in one place long. It took only a few weeks for a palace’s privies and cesspits to start stinking and then, to escape the smell, King Henry and his six-hundred-strong entourage would be off.

      In a flurry of dismantling, they would pack up their goods, their clothes and ornaments and toiletries and workboxes, their books, their chess and backgammon sets, and in the case of the more important folk, their favourite tapestries, bed-coverings and items of furniture, including beds complete with their hangings, and depart, generally by water, since most of the palaces were along the River Thames or not far from it. Horses were sent by land, and there were wagons and pack animals to convey goods by land when this was required.

      Everyone in the royal retinue was used to its gypsying habits, but the same problems appeared every time. Anne Boleyn, who had been СКАЧАТЬ