At a distance, it had not looked so huge. Close up, it seemed mammoth. Two wide wings spread out from the large central section. Built of Cotswold stone transported many miles, it glowed in the late- afternoon sunshine of the wintry day. In the bleak countryside, it seemed like a topaz gem in a silvery dark setting.
Trees were set about it, with flower beds in formal pattern. “It seems a bit grim now,” said Alastair, leaning forwards eagerly to look out of the window past her. “But in the spring and in the autumn, by Jove, it is beautiful! Spring brings the apple and apricot and plum trees, and the hills are full of drifting blossoms. And in the autumn, you shall see the maples turn to red and gold, and the beech to pure gold. The hills are alive with flame then.”
The countryside seemed to bring out the poet in him. She looked at his deep blue eyes, his shining face, and knew that he loved this place, his estates, Fairley.
He jumped down before the carriage had stopped rolling, opening the door with a jerk. The servants were waiting for them, a butler in formal dress, and others lined up behind him.
“Welcome to Fairley, Sonia,” said Alastair, turning to give her a hand down. Seeing her awkward after the long ride, he reached into the coach, boyishly caught her by the waist, and lifted her out with a grin.
She felt a warmth here she had not felt at the townhouse. She smiled at the servants lined up to greet her. She went down the line slowly, looked at each face, shook each hand, and murmured the names after Alastair. They bobbed curtsies, or bowed low, gazed at her curiously, but with some friendliness, she thought. They went into the wide halls, to be met by the house servants, and the ceremonies were repeated there.
The housekeeper was a broad-faced woman of buxom appearance, clad in rustling black, with keys at her waist. She bowed, then introduced Sonia — “Lady Fairley,” as she kept saying with every few words — to the footmen and the maids. Leah followed them silently, her cloak about her, watching alertly to see how her mistress was greeted.
The rooms were old-fashioned in appearance, there had been no repainting and remodelling for many years, yet she liked them the more for that. In the vast drawing room stood heavy furniture of mahogany which seemed to be rooted in place as though there hundreds of years. A log fire burned in the huge fireplace. The mantel was of dark wood, highly polished, topped by flowered Chinese vases in the famille rose pattern. Someone had found some late asters to set in them, with dark green ferns. The gesture touched her.
The winter drapes had been set up. They were dark crimson, showing off the crimson of the Persian rugs on the floor, the shining hardwood of the window frames and door frames. The furniture — sofas and chairs — had been tapestried in lighter crimson silk, with touches of pale gold. It was a cheerful room, welcoming Sonia after the long cold ride.
Upstairs, their rooms were equally welcoming. Hers were in blue and gold, with a blue canopy over the large four-poster bed. The simple lines of the carving told her it had been made about one hundred years before. The matching chairs and small dressing table were in the same style.
“This was my grandmother’s room, and her mother’s before her,” said Alastair, showing her in. He cast a worried look about. “I had not realized how old-fashioned it looked. If you wish changes —”
“Oh, no, oh, no, it is perfect as it is. It is so — warm and welcoming, like a nest against the cold,” she said spontaneously. His face relaxing, he smiled down at her.
“You must tell me if you wish aught changed,” he said gently. “These are my rooms —” He flung open the door in the side wall. She peeped in timidly, to see handsome crimson silk hangings, an equally immense old-fashioned bed with simple carvings, oil lamps, a few candlesticks of silver on the tallboy. The bathroom was very simple , and the tub would have to be filled with kettles of hot water. There were wash basins of porcelain on a blue-painted wooden stand.
Sonia slept well that night, though she missed Alastair. He was weary also, and had gone to bed in his own bedroom. Yet she felt his presence close to her, as the rooms were not so huge and only a door was between them, not several formal rooms.
She wakened to a thick dark day with rain sweeping down across the hills and valley. She felt amazingly happy, for all the gloom of the day. They were alone in the country, with none of his relatives about to spoil her pleasure, and she hummed as she dressed.
She heard Alastair humming in the bathroom, and smiled. When he was happy, he sang or hummed in an off key that was curiously endearing. He could not carry a tune, but grumbled away at the melody in a sort of husky baritone. When he was unhappy or troubled, he was silent. She knew already some of his moods, and to hear him humming was reassuring.
Mrs Pendennis, the housekeeper, was a typical Cornish wife, cheerful, bustling, always busy about her tasks. She beamed at Sonia happily, and wanted to show her everything on the first day. She was as different from the stiff starchy housekeeper at the London townhouse as night from day, thought Sonia.
“There, now, himself is back home,” said Mrs Pendennis. “And how much troubles for him to settle! Sure, they’ll all be after him to settle matters for weeks. You’ll be wise to make things smooth for him at home, you will,” and she nodded her greying head, beaming from her flushed rosy-cheeked face.
She had the cook make typical fare for them, as Alastair wanted it. They had thick Cornish pastries, meat pies, fish dishes as strange to Sonia as could be. And for desserts, there were bottled fruits which had been gathered in summer and preserved: blackberries, currants, plums, cherries, besides fresh apples from their own trees, stored in the cool cellar. Whenever the occasion warranted, there were buttery cakes, covered with whipped cream so thick that Sonia thought she would surely gain weight. How delicious they all were, eaten in the fresh cold air of the manor house, with the smell of the logs in the fireplace, and the laughter of the maids in the kitchen. This was a happy place.
Alastair was busy about the estates. He discovered that Sonia could not ride, and promptly proceeded to teach her. She had a very gentle elderly mare, who could not be coaxed beyond a sedate walk, and she rode along happily beside Alastair as he rode his stallion. The riding habit she wore had been his mother’s — it fitted her quite well. She adored the high black hat with the plume.
On rainy days, which came often, she remained indoors, learning the complicated ways of the household. It was such a huge estate, with a huge household to match. The maids were hired from the village. They had to be trained in sewing, cooking, waiting table, cleaning, making beds, and whatever else Mrs Pendennis deemed proper.
“Sure, we lose them as fast as we train them,” she said sorrowfully. “Either a young man has his eye on the girl, or she goes off to the big city to get a job where she’ll meet more men. Pity!”
Christmas was coming. Sonia felt disturbed about celebrating this holiday, then told herself that she must be sensible. It was a time of rejoicing, of gift-giving, of being thankful. It was like her own Festival of Lights, and she would quietly think of it to herself like that.
Sonia had a gift of her own making for Alastair. She looked about for other gifts for him. That kept her occupied during the December days. She embroidered and hemmed some fine linen for stocks, setting his initial lovingly into them , and made him some silk shirts. Leah helped her ruffle the fronts and wrists.
Sometimes she even had time, on an especially bad stormy day, to work on jewellery designs. Alastair seemed anxious that she should not give up her work, asking her several times if she would like to send for her equipment.
“No, no, no commission is urgent,” she told him. “I completed all I had, and refused several. When we return to London, I might take it up again.”
“I want you to be happy, and the jewellery-making seems to do this,” he said, gently. “Your uncle told me how much it meant to you.”
She thought this was very sweet and thoughtful of him. Yet, for all their pleasure together, a barrier was creeping up between them. He was aw
ay all the day, coming home soaked and tired, often later sleeping alone in his bedroom. She knew the work was difficult, and there was much to straighten out from years of neglect. Yet — yet why was he not so close to her as before? Or were they just becoming settled married people?
Alastair had been brooding deeply about two incidents which had occurred before they departed from London. Unable to keep away from Mrs Daphne Porter, he had gone to see her. She had been cold and cruel, accusing him of marrying for money. “You care nothing for me,” she had said, her green eyes flashing. “All your compliments, all your assurances — and you married that — that Jewish woman within a month! No, I shall never believe in a man again!”
She had sounded over-wrought, dramatic, almost hysterical. He had been quite unable to calm her. She had sent him away, declaring she would never receive him again. And that stung. They had been intimate for a year. Even now, he had hoped somehow she would continue to see him secretly. He was paying her rent, he had bought clothes for her, and jewels. Somehow, he could not stop doing that. He continued to pay into her bank account, though he knew he was being a fool. This was not his money, he thought bitterly. It was the price of marrying Sonia!
When he returned to London, her anger would have cooled, he thought. He wanted to take up the relationship again. In her best moments, she soothed him, excited him, made him feel more alive and masculine — he wanted her. He wanted her blonde beauty in his arms, her red mouth opening under his, his hands on her full breasts, to see her green eyes slumbrous when he took her.
At times like that, he could not go to his wife. He would lie awake, and listen to the rain beating against the windows, and long wildly for the woman he had left in London. She was difficult, exciting, unpredictable. He wanted her!
The other incident had stung deeply, in another manner. He had been doing errands in town before departing. He had run into Sir Jonathan Wiltshire and the man had walked right past him. Alastair, laughing, had gone after him and grasped his arm.
“I say, Jonathan, you are in a daze! Didn’t you see me?”
The older man, tall, dignified, his hair greying, had turned and deliberately removed Alastair’s hand from his arm. “I wonder you can ask that,” he had said, his tone both sad and rebuking. “What have you done, my old, old friend? What have you done?”
Alastair had stared at him blankly. “Done? What do you mean?”
“Marrying a Jewess!”
Alastair had felt the blood draining from his head, he had felt quite dizzy. Jonathan, softening a little, had drawn him into a coffee-house nearby, and they sat down over cups.
“How could you do such a terrible thing?” Jonathan had asked him. “To marry outside your class! You of all men! I could not believe the report!”
“I — it was necessary,” had said Alastair, holding tight to his dignity. “I hope you will come round when we return to London. I shall need my own friends about me.”
Slowly Jonathan had shaken his head. “I cannot come. I cannot. To see a woman like that, in the place where your mother ruled! Intimately associated with your sisters! Have you forgotten all honour? Have you forgotten what is due to your family name? Are you no longer a gentleman? I cannot but believe that the Jews dunned you for money, forced this on you —”
The words had echoed unpleasantly in Alastair’s ears night after night. He worked from dawn to dusk, worked himself so hard that he was exhausted. Still he lay awake, hearing those reproaches. Have you forgotten what it is to be a gentleman? Have you forgotten your family name? Have you forgotten what is due your heritage? How could you? You have forgotten all nobility, all honour…
He writhed, flinging his arm over his eyes. Had he? Had he not just done what he had to do? Should he have gone bankrupt, and let his sisters take posts as governesses, as other poverty-stricken former gentlemen had done? Left his brother to go down in debt to the gamesters?
This must be what all London whispered about him. No wonder men had cut him, and women tittered behind his back. How could he think he could have done such a thing to the strictly regimented society of England and not have them stab him? He had betrayed all their values — he had married outside his class — and for money!
She was a Jewess and in trade. Her uncle was a broker, and a shrewd one. So were her cousins. All his former friends must know of her fortune. Many must have guessed that lack of money had driven him. God, how far could a man fall! If only he had died in battle! At least then, his name might have kept some honour.
Such thoughts tormented him night and day. He rode like a demon across the chilly wind-swept countryside, and drove his men as hard as himself.
Christmas was coming. What a hollow mockery! He had left gifts for his brother and sisters at the townhouse, to be produced by the housekeeper at the proper time. He had not spoken of the occasion to his wife. After all, she did not keep Christmas!
Yet, as the holidays approached, he noted a keen sense of excitement in the air. The cook was baking huge cakes for the holidays, rich fruit cakes that scented the air of the manor house. The housekeeper came to him, asking about the gifts of money for the servants. And Sonia was sewing things, and hiding them from him with an enchanting giggle and a blush, when he happened early into her sitting room.
Wearily, he resigned himself. He must spend Christmas as usual, watch the holly and mistletoe hung about, plan a Yule log, and think what to get for his wife — his wealthy wife, who could buy and sell him!
He went into the nearest town, searching. He had to have some appropriate gifts for her. In a dress shop, hopelessly looking once more, he found the proprietress taking pity on him.
“My Lord Fairley, there is a new shipment of warm woollens in from Scotland. Might your lady like one of them cloaks, maybe of blue and green plaid? Mighty handsome they be,” and she spread out one after another.
He fingered the fabric. Yes, it was warm and beautiful. She had no such thing — she wore velvet and ermine, he thought bitterly. But these were handsome, and would keep out the chill rain. He purchased one of them, in what he hoped would be her size.
Christmas came. The gifts appeared suddenly in the drawing room, along with a handsome tree which Sonia and the housekeeper had helped the maids to trim. Excitement bloomed in Sonia’s cheeks as Alastair came in from work, early.
“Do you like it?” she asked anxiously, her slim hands clasped before her in a pleading gesture.
“I say — it is stunning,” he said, eyeing the tree. It was tall and fragrant, and looked much as his mother had decorated trees years before. He recognized the ornaments, the silver bells, the fragile angels, little golden horns, a tiny wooden sleigh which had been his favourite. “You must have worked hours,” he said, more warmly. “However did you find all these?”
“ Mrs Pendennis ordered them brought from the attics,” she said happily. “I have never decorated a tree before — she showed me how. It was such fun!”
Then he remembered — no, she would not have had a tree before. He bit his lip and thanked her even more warmly. How many customs must she be forcing herself to observe for his sake? He wondered if the wedding had been strange to her. The pastor had told him that she seemed an intelligent woman, but he had had to go over and over the service with her before she understood it. Of course, it must all have been very exotic to her.
He got the housekeeper to help him wrap the presents he had bought for Sonia. “There now, how pretty,” said Mrs Pendennis, with satisfaction and hidden relief. “She’ll like this cloak, just right for her, it is. And such pretty handkerchiefs, all lace! You know what a lady likes, to be sure, my lord!”
Know what a lady likes, he thought gloomily. Daphne liked rubies of the first water, sapphires and diamonds. All gems, the finest gowns, the best furs. A flat in a fashionable neighbourhood, servants.
He tried to suppress thoughts of Daphne. He could not see her for at least another month. There was so much to do here and he must return again in the summe
r, to make sure all was going well. But soon, soon, he could return to London, and to Daphne. Such a fascinating, entrancing, unpredictable woman! He could scarcely wait to go back to her…
He must be very careful in his movements. Now he was a married man. His new relatives were shrewd. They would not like any insult to Sonia so soon in his marriage. And if she did not produce a child soon, he would be in trouble. Meyer wanted a child of the marriage to prove it was going well. He felt a very cad. He liked Sonia, he enjoyed making love to her, for she was amazingly responsive. And her mind was quick and agile, delighting him. But he did not love her, of course he did not love her. How could he?
On Christmas morning, he rose early, feeling very restless. He strode back and forth, before taking his bath and dressing. His valet found him most particular about his shave, his neckcloth, the set of his blue velvet coat.
He went down early, to find Sonia there before him, having breakfast in the dining room. He was surprised; he had not heard her movements. Were there shadows under her grey eyes, or was it the lighting?
“Good morning, my dear,” he said, feeling horribly guilty. “A happy Christmas to you.” Then he remembered, and looked worriedly at her.
She smiled over her coffee cup. Her lips were steady. “A happy Christmas to you, Alastair,” she said in her low musical voice. “May this New Year bring you much joy and happiness.”
“And you also,” he said, sitting down at his place. The footman brought him his usual plate of eggs and ham, poured his coffee, and he settled to his meal.
After breakfast, they retired to the large drawing room, to admire the tree. “Is it — I mean — may I give you my gifts now?” asked Sonia, after a little time. Her cheeks were pink, her grey eyes eager.
He smiled at her, relieved. “I have a few things for you also, my little wife,” he managed to say, teasingly. He went to the tree, picked up the large box with the cloak and brought it to her. He had the pleasure of hearing her exclaim with delight as her hand smoothed lovingly over the fabric.
Star Sapphire: Love and wild adventure in Regency England Page 9
