The Favoured Child. Philippa Gregory

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СКАЧАТЬ said, and her eyes were shining. ‘We have a guest for dinner! You two, upstairs at once and change. I won’t have you in my parlour in all your dirt. Hurry now!’ And she whisked back into the parlour with a ripple of laughter as if she were a young girl, refusing to respond to our bemused faces, running from our questions.

      Richard turned at once for the kitchen. The place was in chaos. The fire was burning fiercely, and Mrs Gough’s white cap was askew and she was alarmingly red in the face.

      ‘Who is here?’ Richard demanded. ‘Mrs Gough, who is the extra place at dinner?’

      ‘Wait and see!’ she said tersely, slapping a mound of pastry on the floured table. ‘But your ma said to tell you, Miss Julia, to change into your best gown, and you are to put on your Sunday suit, Master Richard!’

      ‘Lord Havering,’ I hazarded. Mrs Gough pressed her lips together, rolled out some of the pastry and turned it a quarter of the way around to keep it smooth.

      ‘Lady de Courcey!’ Richard guessed.

      Oh, get along, do!’ she said with the tolerance in her voice which was always there for Richard. ‘Can’t you see that I’m rushed off my feet! Go and get dressed, Master Richard! And you, Miss Julia, be a good girl and go into the yard and see if Jem is back yet. He’s fetching some fruit and vegetables and some game for me from Midhurst, and I cannot get on without it!’

      I nodded and went obediently to the back door, but Richard stood his ground and went on guessing. Jem still had not come, and the rising flush on Mrs Gough’s pink cheeks warned even Richard that her temper was about to boil over. We made ourselves scarce, creeping through the green baize door into the hall. A gentleman’s hat was on the hall table with tan gloves beside it, good-quality leather. We could hear the murmur of voices in the parlour and suddenly Mama’s laugh rang out as clear as a flute. I had never heard her laugh so joyously in all my life before.

      Richard would have listened at the door, but Stride came out of the dining-room and shooed us upstairs.

      ‘Who is it, Stride?’ I asked in a whisper as I hovered on the stairs.

      ‘The sooner you are dressed for dinner, the sooner you will know,’ he said unhelpfully. ‘Now, go, Miss Julia!’

      I dropped my muddy things on my bedroom floor and drew my new cream silk gown out of the chest. ‘New to you,’ Mama had said ruefully. It was cut down from an old gown from Mama’s half-sister, and the seams showed pale where the colour had faded. But the main silk of the gown was shiny and yellow, bright as the heart of a primrose, and I felt taller and older as soon as the ripple of sweet-smelling silk eased in a flurry over my head. I stood on tiptoe to see as much of it as I could in my little mirror and saw how the colour made my face glow warm and my eyes show hazy and grey. Then Richard banged on my door and I spun around to slip into my best shoes and we went downstairs to see who was the guest for dinner so important that his identity was an exciting secret and Mrs Gough was allowed to buy fruit and game for his meal.

      It was John MacAndrew.

      I knew it the second the door opened. Not because he was standing, tall but slightly stooping, at the fireplace as close to the hot fire as he could get, needing the heat, but because I saw Mama’s face, pink and rosy like a girl’s, glowing with a happiness I had never seen before.

      ‘Julia! This is …’

      ‘My Uncle John!’ I interrupted, and ran into the room with both hands held out to him. He beamed at my welcome and caught both hands in his and drew me to him for a hug. Then he set me back and kissed my forehead like a blessing, and stepped back to see me.

      Suddenly the easy smile went cold on his lips and his pale blue eyes lost their warmth. He looked at me as if he were seeing an enemy, not his own niece. He looked over my head to Mama, who had risen from her chair and was watching his face with something like fear in her face.

      ‘What is it, John?’ she asked, her voice urgent.

      ‘She reminded me so…she reminds me so …’ he said, searching for words, his eyes fixed on my face. He looked afraid. I stepped awkwardly away from him, towards my mama, and looked to her for prompting.

      ‘No!’ she said abruptly, and I jumped at the sharpness in her voice. ‘She is nothing like Beatrice!’

      At the mention of her name Uncle John breathed out.

      ‘She is not like Beatrice at all,’ Mama said again, like some brave rider going for a difficult fence. ‘She has quite different hair colour, quite different eyes. Quite different altogether. You have been away too long, John. You have had the picture of Beatrice in your mind for too long. Julia is not in the least like her. She is very much my daughter. She is very like me. She is naughty sometimes, and Wideacre-mad! But all children are naughty at times and it means nothing. Julia is my little girl. If you had seen her yesterday – before she put up her hair – you would not have thought her a young lady at all!’

      Uncle John shuddered and shook his head to clear his mind. ‘Of course,’ he said, and he smiled at me, drawing strength from Mama’s common sense. Of course. It was the way she ran into the parlour, and her voice, her smile, and the set of her head…but she will have learned that grace from you, Celia, I know.’

      ‘I am glad you think so,’ Mama said. ‘For I think her a most mannerless hoyden!’

      He smiled at that and I saw the warmth in his eyes which made me glad for Mama. I could see at once that he loved her. And the first picture I had – of a man stooped and tired, yellow-faced and ill – faded before the sparkle in his eyes and the way his mouth made a little secret smile as though he could not help laughing but was trying to stay serious.

      ‘Uncle John,’ I said shyly. ‘Here is Richard too.’

      John turned swiftly towards his son, and I saw his shoulders suddenly straighten, taking on a burden that he had long promised himself. He put out a hand as Richard came into the room, and his voice and his smile were practised. ‘Richard,’ he said, ‘I am very glad to see you’, and he put his arm around Richard’s shoulders and hugged him hard, and then, still holding him, turned to Mama and laughed. ‘Celia, all this while I have been picturing you with little children, and here is Richard nearly as tall as me and Julia up to my shoulder.’

      Mama laughed too, and I knew that she had expected that hesitation from Uncle John and was skilfully glossing over it before it could be noticed. ‘And the clothes they need! And the shoes!’ she exclaimed.

      ‘I see I shall need all my rubies and diamonds,’ Uncle John beamed.

      ‘Do you have rubies and diamonds, sir?’ Richard asked quickly.

      ‘Minefuls of ’em!’ Uncle John replied promptly.

      Mama beamed at him. ‘We shall spend them all,’ she promised. ‘But do sit down now, John, and rest before Stride serves dinner. And tell us your news. You can unpack your elephants later!’

      The dinner was the best that Mrs Gough could rush together and was served on the Havering china with the crest; and we used the best crystal glasses. Lady Havering had spared no trouble when Jem had been sent out again after his return from Midhurst to tell her that Dr MacAndrew was home. She had even packed a cold bottle of champagne, and we drank it with the pudding and toasted all our futures.

      ‘We must talk, Celia,’ СКАЧАТЬ