Madrilene's Granddaughter. Laura Cassidy

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СКАЧАТЬ he was somehow masquerading as the model of a successful courtier, successful man, that all he really was was the lucky inheritor of generations of favour? He hated to acknowledge this fear, and it was humiliating to have voiced it to another. He also regretted his unkind comment on her personal demeanour, for he also disliked feeling guilty of unkindness.

      After the last morsel had been enjoyed they all left the table to play various games suitable to the young guests. Then came the present-giving and Bess and Harry accepted the gifts from the children, gravely appreciating the effort and thought as much as the content. Lastly there was a spirited display of dancing.

      Rachel, watching the proceedings from a wide settle by the hearth, said to Hal, who had most reluctantly had to give Katherine up to Piers and so moved out of the line of dancers, “They are all so happy, are they not?”

      “Mmm.” Hal looked moodily across at Katherine. She and Piers grew more friendly with each passing moment…An ignominious thought crossed his mind: perhaps if Katherine knew how very impoverished Piers was, she would—Hal was instantly ashamed of this thought. Firstly because it assumed that Katherine cared for such distinction, and secondly because it was a disloyalty to his best friend, for there had never been any division between them regarding estate—at least on his part. Rachel glanced at him.

      “You’re not enjoying yourself. Why? Because of Katherine’s performance? It means little, you know, and jealousy only makes you miserable. It’s a very unproductive emotion.” As she said this a premonitionary shiver ran down her spine. She had never been jealous of Katherine for what she had materially—and “jealous’ was the wrong word for the pangs she had always felt that her cousin had her definite place in the world. So why the cold feeling in this warm room now?

      Hal sat down and leaned back, saying in answer to her words, “Well, you should know.”

      The half-acknowledged thought flashed away and anger took its place. “If you are saying I am jealous of Katherine, then ’tis not true!” she said angrily. “You think that because she has…everything and I nothing. As if I cared for a few baubles and furs. Truly you and she make a good pair!”

      Since this was his ambition for the future, it was hard for him to decide why this last statement seemed such an insult. “I don’t understand,” he said abruptly, “why you are always so angry with me. Have I earned such enmity?”

      She blinked. He had the habit of making these surprisingly direct remarks, which sat so ill with his usually casually polished conversation. She was startled into forgetting that he had offended her twice with his comments on her character and admitting, “No. It is just that, when I am with you, I feel as if I want to fight with you.”

      “Because you think I betrayed your confidence to my mother?” He gave her the straight, blue Latimar look.

      “No…for if you tell me you did not, then I believe you.”

      A slow smile spread across his fair face. “I am glad of that, for I am a good person to share secrets with. And, actually, I do not have your secret over this, for you told me only meagre details.”

      She sighed. “I should not have said even what I did. And how your mother knew…I cannot see how.”

      “Why don’t you tell me all about it, Rachel?” Hal folded his arms and looked attentive. Most of his interest was for his parents’ part in the story, certainly, for their past was part of the history of the world he occupied. But some was reserved for Rachel, so nervously engaging. He could not help noticing that the colour coming and going in her face, the light changing in her expressive eyes, improved her looks, already arresting. Also, whatever Rachel Monterey was, she was extraordinarily easy to talk to.

      Rachel took a breath, conscious that her cursed tendency to blush was upon her now. She looked down at her clasped hands, then up into Hal’s face. “It was this way…” she began, stopped and began again. “My grandmother, Madrilene, came to the English court when she was but seventeen—the age I am now…She was half-Spanish, half-French and a ward of the old King, Henry. Almost at once she fell in love with your father, who was a good friend of the King. She was—even when I knew her in her old age—a passionate impulsive creature, and must have been more so at that age…Anyway, she saw your father and wanted him, pursued him, I suppose…but he was married to your mother and would not be led astray.” Rachel paused again. This story, told in the house of two of the characters in her tale, was difficult to tell without her grandmother being seen as the villain.

      Hal signalled for more wine to be dispensed for himself and Rachel. When it was, he leaned more comfortably against the broad cushions. “Yes? And then what happened?” Rachel was embarrassed, but he was not. He was a sophisticated courtier of the most glamorous court in the world. He had heard it all before—apart from it being more personal on this occasion.

      “What happened then,” Rachel said bleakly, “was that my grandmother lost the battle between herself and your father and was dispatched forthwith back to France and from there to Spain, where she found some sort of solace with my grandfather, and her daughter—my mother. That is all,” she ended lamely.

      “All? I don’t think so,” Hal said softly. “Otherwise, why should my mother—usually a sensible person—resent you so?”

      “Well…” Rachel looked away, then back at him. “Of course that was not…all. For my grandmother never got over him—not having him poisoned her life. And that would not have happened if she had not felt the force of her love was returned in however small a way.”

      “That is what my mother felt,” Hal said thoughtfully. “And the resentment she felt for your grandmother is now transferred to you.” He sipped his wine, adding, “I am sorry.”

      Rachel smiled wryly. He was sorry. Well, who was not—for her? Poor Rachel Monterey, so well-born, but un-dowered. Poor Rachel, whose father had been a gallant officer of the throne of England, whose mother—so lovely—had chosen badly. Poor Rachel, born into Spain in privileged circumstances, but reduced by her grandmother’s gambling to penury. Poor Rachel, whose only contact, a simple Spanish priest, had said, Dear child—to ensure your future, your personal goods must be sold and you can then go to England, the home of your relatives. You will be a poor girl, but you will be with your family…

      “And apart from being a keen horsewoman,” Hal asked, after a moment of watching the varying emotions darken her eyes, “what was your grandmother—Madrilene—like?”

      It gave Rachel a strange feeling to hear the name on his lips. In spite of their differing colouring, she thought Hal very like his father. No wonder her grandmother had become so obsessed with a similar attractive creature. “Oh…” She became aware of his enquiring expression. “She was beautiful; even old, when I knew her, the way she walked, the way she used her hands and her vivid presence drew all glances. She was also,” she added wryly, “not to be trusted with a peso when there was any game of chance in prospect. She was rich when she met and married my grandfather, still rich when my mother was alive but…towards the end of her life she had lost it all in one way or another. One way or another usually involving cards or dice, or horse races…well, whatever can be gambled upon.”

      Hal laughed. “Well, I can understand that.”

      “Are you a gambler?”

      Hal didn’t answer. Did he gamble? Yes, he did, it was the ruling passion in his life, or had been until he had set eyes on Katherine Monterey. As this thought struck him, he glanced to the floor where there was now a general move towards the party breaking up. It was well into the early evening and the children СКАЧАТЬ