“We will walk towards the City,” was the first thing she said.
“Not to the fields?”
“No.”
He offered his arm and she took it, resting her hand on the crook of his elbow. “Is this very shocking?” she asked him, peeping upwards. “Should we have a chaperone?”
“Not since I am a friend of the family,” he answered her seriously. “I hope you have told them you are meeting me?”
“I must make sure you are always on friendly terms!” She avoided the question. “For I want you to take me to London, even perhaps to visit your friends at court.”
“The court is no place for a lady,” he corrected her. “Nobody attends court but for gambling and vice. I only go for essential meetings of business.”
“But I have business there,” she surprised him.
“You do?”
The black ribbons on her hat trembled at her determined nod. “I do,” she confirmed. “I am not quite a pauper. My first husband left me his antiquities, some beautiful sculptures from days long ago. I was told in Venice that the best prices are paid in London. Is that not true?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he said gloomily. “Certainly, they seem to be mad for spending.”
“You do not collect art like the king? You have no taste for beautiful things yourself?”
“I suppose I like the new buildings, the classical taste…”
“Exactly so,” she agreed. “And this is why I have come here. I have a small collection of the finest pieces, Greek and Ancient Roman sculptures for sale. I will have them shipped here. Perhaps Alys will send a ship for my goods. My first husband was a great collector, a most artistic man. His steward has maintained his collection for me. I was hoping to use my mother-in-law’s warehouse as a saleroom for my goods. But I can see no one comes here—nobody would. So how am I going to meet the noblemen who love beautiful things unless you will introduce me?”
“Not at the court. It is no place for a lady,” he repeated.
“I shall take your word for it,” she assured him. “But perhaps you will direct me to the collectors, the gentlemen of taste and wealth, perhaps you will introduce me?”
“Really, I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“Ah!” she said. “Beginning is always the hardest. But look! Here we are—you and I—beginning.”
They walked in silence along the quiet quayside. “It is very different when there is no unloading,” she remarked. “Even worse.”
“It is still busy in the City,” he said. “Even on a Saturday evening, even on a Sunday. Upriver.”
“Yes,” she said. “I can see that is where the warehouse should be. I wish they had not settled for being so small. And so dirty, and so far away from everything of interest. Is your house in the City, Sir James?”
“Not in the business quarter.”
She admired the disdain in his voice.
“Avery House is more to the west, on the Strand. It was untouched by the fire, thanks be to God. That was all to the east of us. A terrible time. We escaped; but all our hangings and curtains were ruined by the smoke and had to be washed and some thrown away.”
Apparently, she was not much interested in his hangings and curtains; she gazed across the river to the other side where the fields and rows of little riverside buildings were giving way to grand quays and warehouses.
“Some beautiful brocades.” He remembered them when they were new, and the dead king was on his throne. “Chosen by my mother, some of them woven for her, to her own pattern. I remember her drawing them up, she had a wonderful eye…”
“Yes, yes,” she said. “Very sad.” Ahead of her, she could see the blunt outline of the White Tower and the high walls around it. “And so that is the famous Tower of London?”
“Yes,” he said. “Perhaps, one day, Mrs. Stoney will take you to see the animals.”
“I doubt it! Does she ever take a holiday?”
“I don’t know,” he said, thinking of the girl she had been, and her love of dancing and play, the summer when she had been queen of the harvest and had run faster than all the girls into the arms of the young man that she loved. “They were always a hardworking family.”
“Roberto also,” Livia said with a little sigh. “Many times I would beg him to stay home and rest. But he was always going out for poor sick people, or on his boat or walking on the marshes. A good wife should make a haven for her husband, don’t you think? A wife is honor-bound to make her husband happy.”
“I suppose so.”
“And you have a house in the north of England too?”
“A country house,” he said. “With land.”
“It is very cold there?” She was interested. “Do you think I would be able to bear it?”
“No colder than the north of Italy, I believe. We have snow in winter and the winds are very cold. But it is very beautiful, and very peaceful.”
“I love the peaceful countryside,” she assured him. “Far more than the town! But I think you did not prosper in your proposal? I think your house will have no mistress? La Suocera does not consent?”
“La Suocera?”
“The mother-in-law, Mrs. Reekie. She does not accept your very generous proposal?”
“No, she does not agree with me yet, but I think she will come to see that I have much to offer her, and the children.”
She gave a little laugh. “And so now you want both children? The girl Sarah and the boy Johnnie?”
His hurt showed on his face. “I don’t know what to want,” he admitted. “I should want her to come to me and bring her child with her.”
She could not conceal her avid curiosity. “But why do you say this? The boy is Alys’s son! You cannot want Alys? She is so cross with everyone!”
He withdrew from her eagerness. “It’s not for me to say.”
She paused in their walk and turned to him. “I am one of the family, their secrets are my secrets.”
He bowed his head. “But they are not my secrets to tell,” he said carefully. “Did Rob tell you nothing about them?”
She made a little pout. “He misled me. I thought it was a greater house and a noble family. He did not tell me that it was a little warehouse and two poor women scratching for a living and two children sent out to work.”
“One child is mine, I am sure of it,” he was driven to say.
She stopped in her path, grasped both his hands, and looked into his face, her dark eyes intent through her black lacy veil. “But you were not dishonorable, Milord. I am sure you would not be dishonorable.”
“No,” he said quickly. “No, I was not. I was young, and foolish, and mistaken. I was very mistaken. Sinfully wrong. But now I want to put things right.”
“You made a baby with Alys?” she whispered. “You made a child on her?”
The shake of his head in denial was enough for her quick wits.
“Dio! With Mamma Reekie?”
His silence was as good as a confession. She recovered at once. “I shall help you,” she assured him. “And you shall help me.”
He took a breath. “It is not my secret to tell.”
“I shall help you,” she repeated. “And then you will help me.”
He was about to say that he had no help to offer her when she turned and pointed to the bridge. “Ah! That is a fine sight! Even bigger than the Rialto in Venice but just as busy.”
The huge bridge, heavy with buildings and shops, crowded with people crossing even now, cast a deep shadow along the quayside.
“It can take hours to get across,” he said. “It is the only bridge, the only crossing. Really, another should be built but the watermen won’t allow it…”
“So many shops,” she said longingly. “And is that a church right in the middle?”
“The chapel of Saint Thomas á Becket. People used to say that you should go in and give thanks to God just for getting to the middle of the bridge because it takes so long to get through the crowds. But it
is closed now.”
“And is your house on the other side?”
“Oh no! Those are all merchants’ houses and tradesmen. My house is farther west.”
“Why, how far is it? Can we walk to it?”
“It’s a good hour’s walk,” he said dampeningly. “And, no lady would cross the bridge on foot. You should take a wherry.”
Prompted by the hundreds of bells chiming the three-quarter hour she turned their walk. “I wanted to see the City. We will go farther another day.”
“The quays are not suitable for a lady,” he said. “Not unaccompanied. And not during working hours.”
“But how am I to get anywhere?” Impatiently she gestured to the looming bridge. “How am I to get to London if that is the only way to the City?”
In silence, they went quickly back along the quay, the way they had come.
“It is not what I hoped for at all,” Livia told him, as they walked past the row of poor warehouses. Ahead was a young man and woman walking arm in arm.
Livia hurried forwards, all smiles. “Now, you must be Johnnie and Sarah!” she exclaimed, putting back her veil and stretching her hands to the young woman. “I am so glad! And how lucky that we should meet here! I am your aunt! Is it not ridiculous? That you should have an aunt such as I? But, indeed, I am the widow of my dear Roberto, and he is your uncle, so I must be your aunt, come to England to live with your mother and grandmother.”
The girl, dark-haired and dark-eyed, crowned with an exquisite bonnet of navy blue with a dark blue veil, took the widow’s outstretched hands and kissed her in welcome. “Mama wrote that you’d come, I’m honored to meet you, Nobildonna. And this is my brother, Johnnie.”
Her brother snatched his hat off his fair head and bowed low.
“Ah, but you may kiss my hand.” The Italian widow sparkled at him. “I am your aunt after all! I believe you could even kiss me on the cheek.”
Shyly, he took her hand and bent and kissed it, then he turned and met James Avery’s intent gaze.
“Sir?” he said.
“And this is my good friend and an old friend of your family,” the Nobildonna said blithely. “Roberto’s tutor when he was a boy, you know. A friend of the Peachey family. Come to visit your mother and grandmother.”
The young man hesitated as his sister stepped forward and curtseyed. “We never have guests,” he said simply.
James felt his throat tighten as he stared at the young man. The youth and he were matching heights, the boy had inherited Alinor’s fair hair and dark gray eyes but there was something about his forehead and brow that was an echo of the Avery family, that could be seen in a dozen dark oil portraits hanging in Northside Manor. His straight honest gaze was that of a Yorkshireman; James found himself looking at his own self-deprecating, crooked smile. “My son,” James said silently to himself. “This is my son. I meet him at last.” Aloud he could say nothing but “Good day,” to the pretty girl before him, and offer his hand for the young man to shake.
Johnnie Stoney was a polite young man; he shook hands with a little bow of his head to the well-dressed stranger and offered his arm to his newly arrived aunt. With Sarah and James Avery following, he opened the front door and ushered them in.
Alys came out of the counting house and saw the four of them together. At once the smile of welcome froze on her pale face.
“Look who I met on my walk!” Livia exclaimed delightedly. “Your beautiful children and Milord Avery! I have brought them all home with me. See how lucky I am! My second walk out, and I am surrounded with friends.”
Alys recovered herself. “I didn’t expect…”
Sarah gave her mother a hug. “It’s five. Didn’t you hear the bells?”
Johnnie bent to kiss his mother’s cheek. “We all met on the doorstep.”
“Let’s sit! Go in! Go in!” the Nobildonna said happily. “I’ll go and take off my hat. Shall I tell Tabs to bring tea?” She turned a laughing look on them all. “I suppose you all want tea? The English always want tea.”
Johnnie glanced from his silent mother to the stranger. “We usually have a glass of small ale,” he said awkwardly.
“Oh! So much better! I will be only a moment.”
Even when she had left the room her presence lingered like a hint of perfume. They were silent, and took seats in silence, but for James, who remained standing, passing his hat from one hand to another. Johnnie was puzzled and looked at his mother, sensing her hostility; Sarah was watching James.
“Ma was going to come down for dinner,” Alys said pointedly.
“I won’t stay,” James tried to reassure her. “But may I see her before I go?”
Before her children, Alys could not refuse him outright. “I think she’s too tired.”
A light footstep in the hall, the door opened, and Livia came in, the maid following with a tray of glasses and a jug of small ale.
“Do you still brew your own ale?” James asked Alys. She did not even look at him, let alone reply. Johnnie watched his mother, puzzled at her rudeness to a guest.
“Did you drink it before? In Sussex?” Sarah asked. “Did you know us then?”
“Yes. Long ago. Before you were born,” he told her, taking a sip of his glass. “It was the best I had ever tasted then and this is still as good.”
“We have our own malthouse in the yard,” Johnnie told him. “It’s brewed to my grandmother’s recipe. She chooses the herbs for it, and she watches the malt being chitted. Sometimes she even turns it herself.”
James nodded. “I would know it anywhere.”
“I had such a lovely walk,” Livia remarked. “And it was such a pleasure to meet you all just there on the quayside.” Smilingly, she turned to Alys. “I put my head around the door of Mia Suocera when I went upstairs to take off my hat, and she said she would see Milord. Shall I take him up?”
Before Alys could refuse, James rose to his feet and followed Livia from the room.
“Don’t be long!” Alys called. “She must not be overtired. I don’t…”
Johnnie rose to his feet too. “Is everything all right, Ma?” he asked in an undertone, as the two left the room. “Is anything wrong?”
His mother glanced up at him as if she would beg him for help but could find no words. “She doesn’t realize,” was all she said. “She does not understand that your grandma should not have visitors.”
“But Grandma said that they could go up?” Sarah pointed out. “And if she’s well enough to come down for dinner with us, why shouldn’t she have a visitor from the old days?”
* * *
Alinor was sitting at the table in the airy room with the glazed door open to the little balcony. Before her, on the table, was a bouquet of fresh lavender; she was stripping the violet seed heads from the stalks. She looked up as the two of them entered and Livia closed the door behind her, and stood in front of it, her hands held before her, as if she were a lady-in-waiting.
“You are staying?” Alinor asked her directly.
“As a chaperone,” the young woman replied gravely. “As it is a matter of honor.”
Alinor turned her attention to Sir James. “You’re back again?”
“I have to come again and again until you will tell me how I can be of service to you. Until I can speak openly…” He glanced at Livia and fell silent.
“I need nothing,” Alinor said steadily. “You can’t be of service to me.”
“A doctor?”
“I’ve seen doctors.”
“A specialist doctor, Italian trained…”
“My son was a specialist doctor, Italian trained,” she pointed out.
“But can I not find someone to consult?”
“I’m drowned,” she said simply. “They pulled me out; but the water’s still in my body. I’m a drowned woman, James. You’re wasting your time on a drowned woman.”
“I didn’t know,” he said miserably.
“You were there!” she exclaimed brutally. “It
was you pulled me out! You know well enough.”
“Alinor, come to my house where you can breathe the clean air,” he urged her. “It’s high, near the moorland, there is a beautiful garden, I have always thought of you in my herb garden. You should have it just as you wish. You shall come as my honored guest, even if you will not accept anything more.”
In the doorway Livia froze, waiting for Alinor’s reply.
“I am a wealthy man now, my beautiful house would be yours to command. And a carriage, and a parlor all your own. Your children could come too. I would never trouble you. Everything should be as you wish.”
“I live as I wish here,” she replied steadily.
If they had been alone together James would have dropped to his knees and pressed his hot face into her lap; as it was, he clenched his hat and fought to find his voice. “Alinor, I have so much to give you,” he whispered. “My fortune, my houses—it’s a burden to me if it is not yours. And I so want… my child.”
“I’ve told you,” she said to him. “I know you’re a man in the habit of having your own way, and you royalists have won, in everything else you’ve triumphed! But in this one matter: you must fail. You didn’t want the child then, you didn’t want me then, that was your decision then—it’s too late to change it now.”
In the doorway Livia clasped her hands together, the image of a praying Madonna, and was perfectly still.
“Am I to be punished forever, for one mistake?”
“Am I?”
“We have both been punished enough!” he exclaimed. “But now I am restored, and I can restore you.”
She shook her head. “I don’t need your restoration. I’m not like your king. I was not expelled from my home. I just moved from a forlorn mire to a dirty river. I’ve made my own life here, as if I sieved it from the mud of the harbor and built it from sea wrack. I didn’t think I’d live; but when I could breathe again I had lost the fear of death—the fear of anything. I can’t be destroyed, I just change. The water didn’t drown me, it flows through me. I am my own tidelands, I carry the water in my own lungs.” She paused for a breath, her hand to her throat. “You find your own life, James. I can tell you: it’s not here.”
Dark Tides Page 7
