The House Of Lanyon. Valerie Anand

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СКАЧАТЬ she for him. What do you think?”

      “I suppose the lad claims they’ve betrothed themselves?” said Master Locke. He didn’t sound surprised.

      “More or less, yes.”

      “That’ll be the third time,” said Marion’s mother crossly. “All the lads go after her, she’s got such a pretty face.” Richard heard this understatement with amazement. Did these people, who lived together as a family, never actually look at each other? Pretty? A girl as striking as Marion? You might as well say the sea was wet.

      “Aye, she’ll promise anything to anyone and go further, very likely,” Art said. “Reckon she did go further last year, with that young sailor off that ship from Norway that had some foreign name. Fjord-Elk, that’s it. Dunno what it means. She’s in port again now. I wouldn’t be surprised if Marion isn’t on the lookout for that young fellow now this minute.”

      “You don’t need to worry,” Master Locke assured Richard. “She needs to be married and soon will be, but to someone like ourselves. There’s a likely boy in Porlock, along the coast. Too many folk round here are cousins of ours and the priest won’t have that. You did right to come and warn us, but nothing’s going to come of this. Two silly young people get together and say things, but we don’t need to take no notice. I say nothing about your son, but Marion’s always saying things to young men, mostly the wrong ones. Will you take a dish of stew and a drop of ale with us?”

      “I’ll take our share down to Marion,” said Art, “and we’ll eat and drink together and I’ll tell her I’m tired of her foolishness.”

      “It’s natural, at her age. She’s barely seventeen,” his father said tolerantly. “We’re an easy-natured lot,” he said. “We don’t watch each other. Marion’s daft and the boys round here turn her head with their sweet talk, but I’ll see it don’t come to anything.”

      “She b’ain’t in the family way yet,” Mistress Locke said. “That I do know. And she’d better not be, till she’m wed.”

      “He meets her in Lynton when she goes visiting there, so my son says,” Richard said cautiously, concealing his relief at learning that Peter had at least not got his sweetheart into trouble. He had wondered, but it was a difficult question to ask.

      “Aye.” Marion’s father nodded. “My mother-in-law and my wife’s sister that’s crippled with the joint evil live up there—they’ve got a cottage and a bit of land at the far end, just outside that valley with the funny-looking rocks in it. Maybe you know it…?”

      “Yes, I went there once,” said Richard. It had been long ago, when he was young and had gone to the Revel, just as Peter had done in the summer. He’d taken a girl into the Valley of the Rocks, as many people called it. “I know where you mean,” he said.

      “Marion takes fish to my mother and sister twice a month and brings back eggs and goat cheese for us. They keep hens and pasture a few goats in the valley—there’s others do the same—and their maidservant does the milking and makes the cheese,” said Mary Locke. “I wouldn’t like to stop Marion’s visits. They’d be hurt if she didn’t go regular, as they’re fond of her, and they like the fresh fish. And we’d miss the eggs and cheese. I’ve no time to go up there, mostly, and Sue here can’t just now. But don’t fret. It’ll lead nowhere. It don’t do for fisherfolk and farming folk to marry. We don’t understand each other’s lives. That pot of stew’s about ready. It’s not fish.” She grinned, displaying gaps in her teeth but a wealth of good nature. “Last time Marion went, she bring down a nice plump chicken as well, all plucked and drawn ready. Chicken stew, this is. Sue, get the ale.”

      

      Richard reached home to find that Peter’s friend Ned Crowham had ridden in and that as usual, Kat and Betsy, impressed by his velvet doublet and silk shirt and the polish on his boots, had put him in the parlour, lit a fire especially for him and plied him with mutton pie and the best cider.

      “Good day, sir,” said Ned civilly as Richard walked in. “I thought you might be out driving ponies off the moor or something of that kind at this time of year, but I took a chance and I found Peter here, though he’s had to go out to the fields now. Kat and Bet said I must eat before I set out for home again.” He chuckled. “As though I hadn’t flesh enough already! They said you’d gone to Lynmouth.”

      “Yes. You’d nearly guessed right about the ponies, though. We’ll be bringing them in tomorrow. We fetched the cattle two weeks back.” Richard helped himself to cider.

      “I heard from Betsy that congratulations were in order and that Peter’s going to marry Liza Weaver. I told him it was a good match.”

      “Did you, now? And what did he say?”

      “He thanked me. What else would he do?”

      “Hah! Well, if he’s out on the land, he won’t overhear anything.” Richard planted himself on a settle and unburdened his soul. “You’re his friend and I fancy you’re no fool. I wish you’d try and talk sense into him. Liza’s the right girl for him, but he doesn’t think so. I’ve been to Lynmouth today to see the family of a girl—a fisher girl, would you believe it?—that he’s got himself mixed up with. They agree with me that it won’t do, but how the boy could be such a wantwit…!”

      “Mixed up with? You don’t mean…?”

      “No, she’s not breeding, though I’ve a feeling that that’s just luck!”

      “No wonder he was so quiet when I congratulated him,” Ned remarked. “But I doubt if I can talk to him, you know, sir. I don’t think he’d listen to me. I’m fond of him, but…”

      “He’s got an obstinate streak. You needn’t tell me! You youngsters!”

      “You’re not so old yourself, Master Lanyon,” said Ned with a smile. “Will you think me impertinent if I ask if you’ve ever thought to marry again yourself?”

      “Not impertinent, though not your business either. I’ve been content enough single.” Ned knew nothing of Deb Archer and Richard saw no need to tell him. “What brought you here today?” he asked.

      “Why, to ask both you and Peter to my own wedding. My family have found me a lovely girl, from east Somerset, near where Peter and I went to school. We’re to marry in the new year. If Peter and Liza are married by then, he must bring her, too.”

      

      The Luttrells heard Mass each day in the castle, said by Father Meadowes, but on Sundays they and their household came down into the village and joined their tenants in worship at the fine church which Dunster shared with the Benedictine monks of St. George’s Priory. It was an uneasy partnership, with frequent arguments about who could use the church when, and who was to pay for what, but the Luttrells—mainly by dint of donations to the priory and regular dinner invitations to the prior—did something to keep relations smooth between the villagers and the monks.

      To the villagers, they were familiar figures: fair, bearded, broad-built James Luttrell, putting on weight in his thirties; his wife, Elizabeth, who had been born a Courtenay, no longer a young girl but still good-looking because of her well-tended complexion and the graceful way she managed her voluminous, trailing skirts and the veiling of her elaborate headdress; their well-dressed young son, Hugh; their household of servants and retainers, and the castle chaplain, always known СКАЧАТЬ