Reunited At The King's Court. Helen Dickson

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СКАЧАТЬ wish I could find her, Hester. I wish I knew where to look. Do you know the man who...?’

      Hester shook her head. ‘No. The only thing I know is that he was a widower. Some believed it to be Lord Stanhope, from Warwick. She talked about him a lot when she returned from visiting her cousin who lived there. You went with her. It was at a time when Father was in London on the King’s business, which happened often in those days before the wars. Lord Stanhope was a frequent visitor to her sister’s house apparently. But it was not known for certain how close they had become. I do recall when she returned from her visit how quiet she was. She appeared to be unhappy about something.’

      Arlette had no recollection of that time. She had been far too young to remember. But she stored Lord Stanhope’s name in her mind. At least it was one line she could follow when she had the time.

      ‘I would like to see you happier, Hester,’ she said softly. ‘There is a great deal of bitterness in you of late.’

      ‘Circumstances change us all.’

      ‘But there is so much that is good in life.’

      ‘I see little of it.’

      ‘It is a dark period we have gone through. But it is past. It is for us to build a new life.’

      ‘There are two things that could make me happy—one is to see you settled in marriage and the other would be if I were to have a child. Why have other women been so blessed and not me? It’s a question I ask myself all the time.’

      She sat beside Arlette with the pallor of her face like marble, a contrast to those startling blue eyes which were so like their father’s. Arlette immediately felt very angry with herself, angry at being so blind to Hester’s suffering. The child she had lost had meant so much to her and Richard. She felt an overwhelming tenderness take possession of her.

      ‘I don’t know, Hester. I wish I did. But it’s not too late. Why, you are still of an age for childbearing. Many women have children older than you. Perhaps you worry too much about it.’ With a sigh Arlette took hold of her hand. ‘I know you aren’t looking forward to going to stay with Anne, who has a habit of flaunting her children in your face. Do not let her upset you—I beg of you. Concentrate on why we are going—to see King Charles enter London and to enjoy the celebrations. Why, the whole of London is gripped by the excitement of his restoration.’

      ‘You forget that Richard is not of your persuasion, Arlette—nor Anne.’

      ‘Then all I can say is thank the Lord for Edward. He is determined to show his support of King Charles and there is nothing that Anne can do about it.’

      Hester gave her one of her rare smiles. ‘No, there isn’t and I will try to enjoy myself,’ she said, her Royalist upbringing coming to the fore. ‘Do you think there will be celebrations in Mayfield village?’

      ‘I am sure of it. There wasn’t a family who was not loyal to the King.’

      ‘Have you no wish to go back to Mayfield, Arlette?’

      ‘I don’t know.’ An image of her brother, now just a dim shadow of her past, appeared in her mind. ‘I’d like to think that Thomas will come back and return to our old home. Perhaps now King Charles has come into his own he might make it possible and the property that was sequestered will be returned. We must put in a petition—which, I believe, is what Royalists who had their houses seized are going to do.’ She was filled with nostalgia for Mayfield—images of childhood, tastes and smells, Mayfield village and the recollections of people she had known.

      She thought about what Hester had told her, becoming quiet and withdrawn as she began to consider how she might discover further information about what had become of her mother and sister all those years ago. May God help her for she could not ignore it. Curiosity and the need to know would drive her on. But how could she go about it? There was no way that she could see. If still alive, they could be anywhere. With reluctance she had to admit that she could do nothing at this time. But she would not let it lie and was fiercely determined to pursue the matter when the opportunity arose.

      Richard’s sister lived in one of the grand private houses along the Strand. Following the austere years of the Commonwealth under the rule of Oliver Cromwell, when all pleasures were denied, when things had been difficult and uncertain and political tension had permeated every household, everyone hoped that with the King’s return to his throne the days would follow a different rhythm. Already the dour cloak of puritanism was being shed and places of entertainment, closed during the interregnum, were beginning to open. In taverns, tankards were raised in toasts to His Majesty, to Charles Stuart, coming home at last to England and his people, Charles Lackland no longer.

      It was the twenty-ninth of May, 1660, King Charles’s thirtieth birthday, and the whole of London, gripped with excitement, was rejoicing. The Strand was lined with people who paraded bearing effigies of Charles Stuart adorned with flowers. There were street sellers doing a good trade and thieves looking for rich pickings. The crowd chanted, ‘Long live the King!’, and in taverns pot boys sped backwards and forwards with tankards foaming with ale. Cannons fired from the Tower announced that the King had crossed London Bridge and a cacophony of bells being rung in every church steeple were a joy to hear. The sky was cloudless and the sun gilded the lattice windows of the Willoughby household.

      It was a large house and was filled with friends and neighbours all celebrating together, all eager to see the sights from the balcony that overlooked the Strand. Happy children managed to get under everyone’s feet and Richard, testy and often bad-tempered, having resigned himself to the King’s return, was conversing with a group of gentlemen, his head with its black steeple hat bobbing as he showed interest in a consignment of printed calico from India.

      Trembling with excitement and eager to welcome the King along with everyone else, aware that this day was too important to be missed, Arlette stood at an open window and looked down upon the parade. For this momentous occasion she had donned her finest buttercup-yellow gown with a tight, pointed bodice, round neckline trimmed with fine lace, full elbow-length sleeves also trimmed with lace, and a sweeping skirt. She wore her honey-gold hair loose with pretty clips at the sides to hold it from her face and secure the sprigs of May blossom she had picked earlier.

      Her heart was throbbing a heavy beat when the King, preceded by heralds blowing long slender trumpets, came into view. He was flanked by his two brothers. All three were attired in silver doublets. They were followed by the Lord Mayor and the Aldermen of the City adorned in scarlet gowns and gold chains. Then came the King’s loyal cavaliers. Not for these gentlemen who rode into London along roads strewn with sweet-smelling flowers and herbs the drab garb of the Puritans. These handsome gentlemen who came with the King presented a vibrant, colourful spectacle: scarlets and gold braid, bright blue and green doublets, flowing locks and flamboyant cavalier hats with an array of dancing plumes and cascading lace at their throats and wrists.

      They laughed and waved atop prancing horses, catching flowers that were thrown from happy children and besotted maids in low-cut gowns lining the route, pressing forward the better to see. Yet in the eyes of these cavaliers there was a hunger, a world weariness, a resolve never to be poor again. Ten years they had waited for this, ten years in exile in a foreign country, where to relieve the boredom many had turned to debauchery—a legacy they brought with them on this day of Charles Stuart’s restoration.

      Along with everyone else Arlette laughed and waved as the parade, which seemed never ending, passed by. She scanned every face, wishing with СКАЧАТЬ