The Ashes of London. Andrew Taylor

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       CHAPTER FIVE

      IT WAS A mark of Sir Denzil’s importance that Aunt Olivia sent Ann to help Cat dress for dinner. Cat did not have her own maid to attend her, a fact that underlined her anomalous status in the household.

      Ann, Aunt Olivia’s own maid, spent what seemed like hours working on Cat’s appearance. Most importantly, she wound a bandage beneath Cat’s breasts with padding set in it in order to create the impression that Cat had far more of a bosom than God had at present seen fit to provide. Cat was already a woman – she would be eighteen next birthday – but sometimes it seemed to her that she and Aunt Olivia were different creatures from one another.

      The maid worked in silence, frowning constantly, and tugging at laces and bandages as if Cat were an inanimate object incapable of feeling pain and discomfort. Afterwards, she showed Cat her reflection in Aunt Olivia’s Venetian mirror. Cat saw a richly dressed doll with slanting eyes and elaborately curled hair.

      Ann brought her down to the best parlour. She left Cat stuffed and trussed like a goose for the oven, to wait on the pleasure of Uncle Alderley and Sir Denzil Croughton.

      The parlour smelled of fresh herbs with a hint of damp. The dark wood of the floor and the furniture had been waxed to a dull sheen. A Turkey carpet glowed on the table underneath the windows. There was a small fire of logs, despite the unnatural warmth of the season, for the room was chilly even in summer.

      She stood by the table and idly turned the pages of a book of airs that lay there, though she could not have sung a note to save her life.

      Her mind was elsewhere, wondering whether she could slip outside again tonight, with Jem’s help, and how it might be contrived.

      She heard steps on the flags outside the door and shivered with distaste. Her hand froze in the act of turning a page. She knew who was there even before she turned: she would have recognized that slow, heavy step in the middle of a crowd.

      ‘Catherine, my love,’ said Cousin Edward. The Alderleys never called her Cat.

      She turned reluctantly and gave him the curtsy that good manners required.

      He bowed in return, but with an element of mockery. ‘Well! You are quite the court beauty today.’ He sucked in his breath to show his appreciation and walked slowly towards her, watching her face. ‘How you have grown!’ He moved his hands, sketching an exaggerated version of her shape. ‘A miracle! Scratch me, my dear, I think this must be the effect of Sir Denzil. The power of his charms is acting on you from afar.’

      She closed the book. She said nothing because that was usually wisest with Edward.

      ‘And what are you reading?’ He stretched out his hand to the book. ‘Ah – studying your music. How delightful. Shall I beg you to sing to the company after dinner? I’m sure Sir Denzil would be enchanted.’

      She was tone-deaf, and Edward knew it.

      He lowered his head and she smelled the wine on his breath. ‘Of course I myself am already enchanted without the need of song.’

      Cat edged away from him. He followed her, penning her close to the table and blocking her retreat. She turned away and affected to stare through the window at the green geometry of the garden and the hot, heavy sky. He was a big man, nearly six foot, and growing fat, for all he was barely five-and-twenty. He looked like a pig, she thought, and had the same voracious appetites. Most of the time he ignored her, which was infinitely better than the times when he baited her instead. Lately, she had been aware of his eyes on her, watching, measuring.

      ‘This miracle.’ He moistened his lips. ‘This sudden change to your appearance. Why, you are all of a sudden grown so womanly. It is quite remarkable.’

      He laid his hand on her shoulder. His touch was warm and slightly moist. He tightened his fingers.

      ‘Skin and bone, sweet cousin,’ he said. ‘Like a child still. And yet … and yet …’

      She pulled away from him.

      He brought his head closer to hers, and again she smelled the wine on his breath. ‘I saw you last night.’

      Startled, she looked up at his flushed, familiar face.

      ‘Creeping back to the house,’ he said. ‘You’d been out by yourself, hadn’t you, walking the streets like any tuppenny whore. You little Puritans are all the same, primness and virtue on the outside and the filthiest wickedness within. I saw you from the window of the tavern by the gate. Slipping like a thief into the alley. Who let you in? That crippled knave of yours?’

      Cat had hated Edward Alderley for some time now. She was a good hater. She hoarded the hatred as a miser hoards his gold.

      The latch rattled on the door. Edward snatched away his hand and stepped back. Cat smoothed her dress and turned to the window. She was breathing rapidly and her skin prickled with sweat.

      Olivia came into the room. ‘Let me look at you, child. Now turn to the side.’ She nodded. ‘Good. Your colour is much better than usual, too.’ She turned to Edward. ‘Don’t you agree? Ann has worked wonders.’

      He bowed. ‘Indeed, madam. Why, my cousin is quite the little beauty today.’ He smiled at his stepmother. ‘No doubt СКАЧАТЬ