The Astrologer's Daughter. Paula Marshall

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ his green eyes away from Celia as though, restored again, she bored him.

      Celia’s surprise was now at herself. She sat down at the table, listened to her father taking the Duke’s instructions, heard her father’s answers and wrote in her clear plain script at his instruction, and was, astonishingly, piqued at Sir Christopher’s lack of interest in her.

      Kit, his friend called him. Or was the Duke his master? She thought not. No one was his master. Green-eyes was owned by none. How did she know that? She did two things at once, a trick Adam had taught her. She was achingly aware of Sir Christopher’s every movement while appearing to be absorbed in her work. He was listening to the Duke, who needed advice from Adam on a financial enterprise.

      ‘I will leave it to you, Master Antiquis. You will bring me your answer to Whitehall, will you not? And your daughter shall accompany you. You may need her eyes and her good right hand.’ He had risen from his seat and walking over to where Celia worked, he said idly, ‘You write a fair hand, mistress.’

      He made no move to touch her or to woo her as he had been wont to do in the past. Was it because of his friend, or had he lost interest in her? She was grateful for that if he had.

      Celia continued her work for a moment; the horoscope grew on the parchment before her. She consulted an almanack.

      Buckingham surveyed the parlour. ‘A fair room, sir. Thy presses are fit for the treasures you display in them.’ And he gestured at the books behind the glazed doors of the presses. ‘Hast a fine library, and a strange one. There are texts here, sir, that would have brought you down under the late tyrant, Cromwell.’ He swung on his red-heeled shoe to stare at his friend. ‘Silent, Kit? Most unlike you. I have a mind to be entertained. Entertain me—and the astrologer and his daughter, too.’

      Kit remained silent, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with him. Buckingham clapped his hands together loudly. His steward, white rod in his hand, who had been standing the while beside the door, started towards him. ‘Your Grace?’

      ‘Fetch the servants and the food and bid Sir Kit’s man bring him his guitar. A fair white cloth as well, to cover Master Antiquis’s good table after the French fashion. I would eat, sir. You will join me?’

      It is his house now, not ours; these great ones own all that they desire or see, thought Celia resentfully, looking up to catch Sir Christopher’s eyes on her. They said, silently, I know what you are thinking. Adam, by contrast, showed his pleasure at the Duke’s condescension, spoke to him with a catch in his voice.

      ‘You will do me a great favour, Your Grace, and drink of my wine, before you eat?’

      The Duke waved a beautiful careless hand, flung his arm about Kit’s shoulders again and, after agreeing to drink with Adam, announced, with none to say him nay, ‘We shall drink in thy garden, Master Antiquis, thou and I and Kit and thy daughter. When his servant brings his guitar, Kit shall sing for us as we drink. What is better on an afternoon of sun and scents, such as this, but to eat and drink and listen to good music? Faith, they have no better time of it in heaven. Cherubim, seraphim, powers and principalities will envy us.’

      Kit has little to say for himself, was Celia’s sardonic thought; he leaves all to his master—for Kit merely nodded his agreement and Adam opened the door to the garden and they all walked through, the Duke leading. Outside, the early April afternoon was as warm as June. The sun was up and high. The flowers were all out as though it were very June, indeed. Apple trees, a crab among them, arched their boughs over them. The Duke flung himself on the garden bench, Kit at his feet, and motioned to Celia and Adam to sit with him, their seat being the grass, already yellowing. It had not rained for weeks.

      Kit’s man brought his guitar, Mistress Hart the wine and goblets. Adam was proud that his possessions were so fine. The yeoman’s cottage where he had begun his days seemed far away. The steward came and a man following him in the Duke’s colours handed the wine about. Kit tuned his guitar, bent his head over it, looked up and this time collected Celia’s eyes.

      ‘A song for you, mistress, seeing that you have been a good and obedient clerk. It is one of the late Will Shakespeare’s and is a favourite of George’s. The cherubim will envy this.’ It was the longest speech he had yet made. His musician’s hands plucked the strings. He sang, and his voice was so soft and tender that the tears started in Celia’s eyes.

      O mistress mine! where are you roaming?

      O! stay and hear; your true love’s coming,

      That can sing both high and low.

      Trip no further, pretty sweeting;

      Journey’s end in lovers’ meeting,

      Every wise man’s son doth know…

      What is love? ’tis not hereafter;

      Present mirth hath present laughter;

      What’s to come is still unsure:

      In delay there lies no plenty;

      Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty,

      Youth’s a stuff will not endure.

      Kit had kept his eyes on Celia while he sang and, when all was silent at the end, repeated, ‘Youth’s a stuff will not endure,’ not in his singing mode but low, breathily, as if he were giving her a message and they were alone in the garden, Adam and Eve together. But the serpent—where was he?

      Buckingham spoke. It was to quote from Twelfth Night, the play from which the song was taken. ‘“A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.” Well sung, Kit. Thy singing matches the wine. Matchless, Master Antiquis, like your talent—and your daughter. A toast to thee, Mistress Celia. A fairer face never adorned the court.’

      There was mockery in his tone, but Adam was deaf to it. He took all as his due. This was his zenith, his apogee, to have a Duke in his garden, one of the King’s favourites singing to his daughter—for he knew of Kit Carlyon if Celia did not—wine before them and a meal waiting in his parlour, for the steward was at the garden door summoning them to eat.

      Celia heard the Duke’s mockery, saw his knowing eye on her, and thought how much she preferred his friend, who had behaved so quietly, who had noted her earlier distemper, but had not refined on it to distress her. So, when Buckingham said to the steward, ‘In with you, man; Master Antiquis will accompany me and Sir Kit will take a turn around the garden with Mistress Celia before he brings her in to dine with us, for he hath a great interest in posies as well as poesies,’ she felt no fear of Kit.

      She allowed him to take her arm after he had handed his guitar to his waiting servant, whose grin after Celia had walked away from him, her hand on Kit’s arm, was as knowingly insolent as only a servant’s could be.

      Kit had not known what to expect when Buckingham had collected him at Whitehall. He had watched the Duke order the hampers of food to be loaded into the barge. He had laughingly told Kit to take his guitar with him to old Antiquis’s home, ‘For music undoes more ribbons and buttons than fingers do—as well you know.’

      He had passed the house on the Strand many times. It was a decent place with its own curtilage. Many of the dwellings had gardens at the back. He had not accompanied the Duke to the astrologer’s before. Kit had grave doubts about astrology—he thought it a fraud and those who practised it mere tricksters.

      Adam and his home had impressed СКАЧАТЬ