Puritan Bride. Anne O'Brien

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СКАЧАТЬ the looking glass, letting her fingers smooth down the figured brocade of the skirts. The reflected image shocked her. The dress looked well—indeed, she had the faintest suspicion, hovering on the edge of memory, that she had never worn anything as fine in her life—but she had no recognition of the lady wearing it. It was as if she were looking at a stranger. Then she gasped as she took in the short hair, roughly cropped—hacked, rather!—and unflattering in the extreme to her critical eyes. It seemed to her that in the past she had had hair that curled in ringlets to her shoulders, not this stark crop which threw her face into cruel relief. For there was the matter of the large purpling bruise that disfigured her temple—and would for many days yet.

      Her eyes met those of the maid and she flinched inwardly at the depth of pity she saw there. ‘I look terrible,’ Viola whispered.

      ‘That you don’t, mistress. You look so much better than yesterday—what with the colour in your cheeks an’ all. Your hair will soon grow. It is very pretty and, now that you have taken off your bandage, you look well.’

      ‘I suppose I do. At least it takes little time to run a comb through it.’ She grimaced as she did so, mindful of the tender wound on her skull. What terrible need had made her cut it so drastically? There was no point in idle speculation. She must be practical. Viola squared her shoulders and looked again at the maid.

      ‘Would you do something for me …?’

      ‘I am Bessie. Her ladyship says for me to take care of you. What would you wish for me to do for you, mistress?’

      ‘Thank you, Bessie. Would you trim my hair—to cut away the worst of the stray bits?’

      ‘My pleasure, miss. I will fetch the shears from Mistress Neale!’

      * * *

      Half an hour later Viola risked a second look in the mirror. Her hair now lay neatly against her neck and curled on to her cheeks and forehead in feathery wisps. She sighed. It was the best she could hope for. ‘Thank you, Bessie. I suppose it is some improvement!’ She smiled wryly as she swept herself a regal curtsy. ‘Do you suppose it will ever look passably attractive?’

      ‘That it will, Mistress Viola. And when the bruise fades you will feel more the thing.’

      ‘You are very good for my spirits, Bessie.’ They smiled at their achievements with the shears. ‘Now, where will I find Lady Elizabeth at this time in the morning? I must speak to her—thank her for all her kindness and this beautiful dress.’

      ‘She usually sits in the panelled parlour at the front of the house in the morning. The sun makes it warm and comfortable for her—with the pains in her limbs an’ all. I will take you there when you are ready.’

      Lady Elizabeth sat in the wash of sunlight in the small parlour with a neglected piece of tapestry on her lap as Bessie ushered in Viola. Felicity sat beside her, head bent industriously over a similar pattern intended to cover a chair seat. Elizabeth’s face was solemn and pensive as she gazed out over the gardens, but brightened immediately with a welcoming smile as she stretched out her hand in greeting.

      ‘Well, Mistress Viola. You look charming this morning. I knew the dress would suit. Turn round for me.’

      Viola did as she was bid, enjoying the swish of damask skirts against the polished oak boards.

      ‘I do not know what to say. You have given me more than I deserve.’

      Felicity’s curled lips suggested that she might agree, but said nothing and continued to ply her needle with little vicious stabs at the tapestry.

      ‘Nonsense, dear girl. Come and sit and entertain me a little.’

      Viola did as she was bid and bent to admire Elizabeth’s embroidery. ‘Your tapestry is beautiful. The stitches are so even.’

      ‘I could do better.’ Elizabeth wrinkled her nose in self-disgust. ‘My fingers are so swollen and painful. Can you do tapestry work?’

      ‘Yes, of course. I remember …’ She stopped in some consternation.

      ‘There now. I knew your memory would return when you stopped trying so hard. I expect your mother taught you.’

      ‘Perhaps. I certainly know that I have worked tapestry—and needlework—and I remember patterns. One very similar to Mistress Felicity’s cover with flowers and leaves, but in darker greens. But I am not sure that I enjoyed it.’ Her lips were touched by a faint smile. ‘I feel that I applied myself reluctantly and only because I must.’

      ‘It is indeed amazing how your memory is beginning to return.’ The sour note in Felicity’s voice was unmistakable.

      There was a silence in the room for a long moment. And then, ‘It is not a situation that I would wish on anyone, Mistress Felicity,’ Viola replied in a quiet voice.

      So she has spirit. It pleased Elizabeth to hear her young guest stand up for herself against Felicity’s unkind sniping.

      ‘Perhaps you would fetch us some wine, Felicity?’

      ‘Of course, dear Elizabeth.’ Felicity simpered in Elizabeth’s direction, but with a scowl for Viola as she flounced through the door.

      ‘You said, my lady, that you had recently returned to live here.’ It seemed to Viola an innocuous subject that would not require any reminiscences on her part.

      ‘It is a complicated story,’ explained Elizabeth, willing enough to find a neutral topic. ‘We used to live at Glasbury Old Hall—you probably do not know it, but it is only a few miles from here. I went there as a young bride. But it was damaged beyond repair in the war—and then we came here.’

      ‘Do you never go back?’

      ‘Too sad. Too many memories of what might have been.’

      ‘But why did you come here in the first place—and then not remain here?’

      ‘I warned you it had its complications. The Priory became ours after a siege and the original family fled. So we moved here when our own house was destroyed. But then we were on the wrong side after 1649 and the King dead, so it was confiscated by Parliament and the rents used for their own policies. In effect, we lost both houses—I think it helped to bring about my husband’s intense melancholy and ultimate death. We went to a property in London, which I had brought to the marriage in my jointure—and this place stood more or less empty except for a strange lady from the original family who stayed on as a sort of guardian, with our steward, Master Verzons, and Mistress Neale. When King Charles was restored, my son petitioned for the return of the Priory—and the King granted it back to him. So we returned. Not an edifying story!’

      ‘And the lady—the guardian? What happened to her?’

      ‘She would not stay. I cannot blame her. She was very angry.’

      Felicity returned, followed by Verzons bearing a tray. He poured the wine, handed the glasses to the ladies and arranged a small table conveniently beside Elizabeth. As he presented Viola with her wine, she looked up at him in thanks to surprise an intent look on his face as he studied her. He immediately dropped his gaze and became once again the self-effacing steward, but it left Viola uncomfortable. It was not a casual look at all.

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