A slow smile of admiration swept across his face as he beheld the lovely vision in a yellow and green gown. His eyes unabashedly displayed his approval as his gaze ranged over the full length of her. Her glorious wealth of hair was parted down the centre and tumbled over her shoulders and down her spine in a shimmering, waving mass, framing her creamy-skinned visage. Her lips were soft and sensuous, her eyes a warm shade of amber, fringed by thick, dark lashes. Even with the undisguised fullness of womanhood, the features were unmistakably Eleanor’s.
The remembrance of her being in his arms stirred him in a way he had never known before. He had felt he was holding the promise of something deep and untouched, something that eluded him for the present, but one day… Something in his chest gripped him—an urgent need to walk up to her, to reach out and take her in his arms, but he dare not, not in front of his sisters; if he were to do so, in all probability Eleanor would reprimand him and slap his face.
‘She does look lovely,’ Jane enthused, clasping her hands in delight. ‘Don’t you think so, William? Not a bit like the youth who accompanied you from London.’
‘I am many things, Jane, but I am not blind—and it is not the first time I have seen Eleanor in a gown.’ His gaze settled on her face and he moved to her side so as not to be overheard by his chattering sisters. ‘So,’ he breathed, ‘you have put aside your tunic and hose and become a lady, Eleanor.’
‘A woman,’ she whispered, foolishly wanting him to look at her, to see her as she truly was—a woman, not a girl in boy’s clothes.
‘And a woman,’ he agreed. ‘A remarkably lovely young woman—although I shall miss the youth.’ He stepped back and said in a louder tone, ‘The colour becomes you, Eleanor—in fact, you look every inch a Court lady.’
Eleanor grimaced. ‘Perish the thought.’
‘Wouldn’t you like to go to Court, Eleanor?’ Jane asked. ‘I would,’ she said, her eyes sparkling with the images Court life conjured up. ‘I’d love to see the Queen and all the pageantry that surrounds her. It must be so exciting.’
‘It appears to be, and if you want to know all about it, who better to ask than your brother,’ she remarked, giving William a sideways glance, a mischievous look to remind him of the time he had spent as a Court favourite, receiving a darkly humorous scowl in return. ‘As for myself, I have no place there. My clothes may be fashionable and I do savour the pleasures of conversation, which since Elizabeth has come to the throne has so transformed the Court, I believe, but I fear I would show myself awkward in such illustrious company. On account of my origins, my family not being as exalted as some, the doors of Whitehall Palace will remain closed to me.’
‘Then you will have to marry a man with a title—an earl or even a duke,’ Jane enthused, making an adjustment to the bodice of Eleanor’s dress. ‘If you do that, your place will be assured among the finest courtiers in the land.’
Aware that William was watching her closely, avoiding his penetrating gaze Eleanor laughed lightly, a soft flush mantling her cheeks. ‘I do not think I care for an earl or a duke, Jane. I will be content to live a quiet life with someone who will make me happy.’
‘And love,’ Anne was quick to say.
Eleanor smiled at her indulgently. ‘That would be an added bonus, Anne—and, yes, it would be nice.’
Life at Staxton Hall was comfortable. Dinner was served at eleven in the morning, supper at six. The long dark evenings before bed threw them all together. At supper William was tersely quiet, while his mother and the twins supplied all the conversation. After the meal they would retire to the withdrawing room where they would play cards and chess. With the twins Eleanor found pleasure reading and writing verse. Both Jane and Anne loved music, and Jane, accomplished on the lute, would reach for her instrument and pick out a soothing ballad and sing to them in her clear voice.
Sometimes William would peruse a book Eleanor was reading and they would discuss its content together, but Eleanor’s pulse would quicken at his nearness. His lean, handsome, dark face with its crooked, sardonic smile that was capable of turning her bones to water, his vivid silver-grey eyes that hypnotised her, would bring her under his spell so that she was incapable of using her own intelligent mind.
Everywhere she went in the house she was aware of him. Even when he was off riding about the estate with Godfrey, hunting or hawking for herons around the lake, there was the lingering scent of him, the cologne he used, the brandy he drank. The very essence of William Marston was like an irresistible drug she could not deny but which she kept at bay night and day.
A hint of spring was in the air when William and Eleanor, Anne and Jane set out early one morning to ride to York. After many long weeks of being confined to the house the twins were excited and eager for the trip. With Godfrey and two of William’s men in attendance, they were a happy band of travellers that disturbed the quietness of the countryside.
York was a fascinating maze of narrow streets and alleys all jumbled together. As soon as they rode through Monk Bar and began to proceed along Groodramgate, with the majestic Minster towering to the right of them, the crowds, the clamour of church bells, the noise and colour and vitality of the bustling city fascinated Eleanor just as much as it had always done and she felt a lifting of her spirits.
Observing her, William laughed and remarked, ‘You look happy, Eleanor.’
‘I am,’ she replied, looking about her, her eyes shining. ‘I love York. I always have. It holds so many happy memories.’
Dodging darting urchins and carts, carriages and drays that rumbled over the cobbled streets, it was difficult staying together. People had to be on their guard, with pickpockets abounding and young women in particular easy prey to villains with evil intentions.
It was a lovely March day with a cloudless sky—not that much of it could be seen with rooftops crowded together and slanting out over the streets, sometimes almost touching in the middle. Each floor of the houses and shops overhung the smaller one below it. In this way space was saved in the increasingly crowded city, but light and air was lost in the lower storeys.
‘Oh, wait,’ Jane cried excitedly as there was a disturbance among the pedestrians in St Sampson’s Square, who stepped aside to make way for a merry travelling group of players in elaborate outfits, colourful and flamboyant. Music was provided by a trio of minstrels who led the way. ‘How lively they are.’ She laughed delightedly when two of the young men in the group did somersaults in front of their horses. ‘And how clever they are. Do you think they are going to perform? I’d love to see them, wouldn’t you, Anne?’
‘I suspect they have only just arrived in York and will be looking for somewhere to act out their performances—more than likely in the Guildhall or St Anthony’s Hall, Jane,’ Eleanor told her. ‘Come, let’s head for The Pavement where there are some splendid shops and we can get some refreshment.’
‘Might I suggest we go to the Bull on Coney Street,’ William said, beginning to head in that direction. ‘We can leave the horses there to feed and rest and proceed on foot.’
After eating a good and wholesome meal they made their way to The Pavement, the decorative fronts of the houses enlivening the street. Here there was the traditional market—the same as in every town all over England. It was both a business enterprise and social occasion, somewhere to purchase a wide variety of goods, meet friends and exchange the latest gossip.
Purchasing materials and the like, browsing among the market stalls and in the shops, buying oranges from a street hawker, then leaving her purchases with one of the men who accompanied them, Eleanor wandered away from the others when she saw a particularly attractive hat furnished with a plume and a jewel attached to the band in a shop window. She leaned forward to get a better look. Seeing other hats which were equally as fetching, she followed the shop window round the side of the building into an alley.
Apart from a man leaning against a wall the alley was deserted. Not in the slightest bit alarmed, she paid no notice
and didn’t see when he shoved himself away from the wall and slipped behind her. She was about to return to the others when a man’s hand came from behind her and an arm circled her waist. With a hand clapped across her mouth, she felt herself being dragged farther along the alley with brutal force to where the man’s accomplice waited.
‘How is your uncle?’ The sibilant hiss of the assailant’s voice only added to his air of menace. ‘Dead, I hope, otherwise I would have to inform your stepfather that our work at Hollymead was not successful—but taking you back with us to Fryston Hall will more than compensate for that.’
Momentarily stunned, Eleanor could do nothing, and then, realising the threat was real and her senses returning, rage, full blown and frenzied, erupted inside her. The thought that this villainous murderer had set fire to her home, killing her uncle, overwhelmed her and she bit his revolting hand. Her assailant cursed and snatched it away. Taking advantage of the moment, she turned her head and screamed shrilly in his ear, a scream that pierced him like a knife. At once he let go of her.
Her ears filled with her own cries, she did not hear the shout from the entrance of the alley, neither was she aware of the huge hands that snatched her assailant away from her, flinging him in one movement against the wall. Her saviour was Godfrey. Thank God he had come. She looked towards the end of the alley where William stood outlined against the light. Quickly she stumbled towards him.
William took her arms and peered into her face, his gaze probing hers and finding fear and distress within their depths. Her face was white, having lost every vestige of colour.
‘Eleanor—Eleanor?’
Her name spoken in concern and anger rose above the roaring in her ears and she felt herself drawn against William’s chest and held in a tight circle.
‘Eleanor, thank God I saw you wander off and followed you. Are you hurt?’
She shook her head, glancing over her shoulder at her assailant struggling with Godfrey.
William held her hard against him, feeling her body tremble. ‘It’s all right,’ he soothed, ‘it’s over. You’re safe.’
He looked down the alley to where Godfrey was holding the man who had attacked her, his accomplice having been apprehended by two men William assumed to be parish constables. As Eleanor’s trembling lessened he held her away from him, looking at her intently.
‘Who are these men, Eleanor? Do you know them?’
She nodded, forcing her shattered senses to work. ‘They are the men sent by my stepfather to burn Hollymead. The man who attacked me said he hoped my uncle was dead and he meant to take me back to London—to Fryston Hall. He must have been waiting for me to be by myself—watching me—following me.’ She shuddered, aware suddenly of her tingling nerves. She looked down the alley at Godfrey holding her assailant in his massive arms. ‘What will happen to them?’
‘They set fire to Hollymead and your uncle died as a result. That could be interpreted as murder.’
‘And the sentence?’
William shrugged. ‘They will be remanded until the Assizes are held when the central judges arrive in York. The Guildhall is used for the hearings, but these men are as guilty as hell and will hang.’
Eleanor shuddered. ‘This is terrible, but I’m glad they’ve been caught.’
Seeing Anne and Jane a few yards away with their escort, William beckoned them over and gave them a brief account of what had happened. Both girls turned their faces to Eleanor.
‘Oh, Eleanor,’ Anne said, in shock at what William had told them. ‘What a dreadful thing to happen. Are you all right?’
‘Please don’t fuss, Anne. I’m not hurt, just a bit shaken, that’s all.’
‘Eleanor, go with Anne and Jane to the Bull and wait for me there,’ William ordered gently. ‘It shouldn’t take long to get this sorted out with the constables and make sure these men are locked away.’
‘Of course—and then, William, I would like to go to Hollymead. You will take me there, won’t you?’
William studied her pale face with a slight frown. Despite her attempt to appear unaffected by the assault to her person, he could tell that she was as tense as a tightly coiled spring. ‘Do you have to—after what’s just happened to you? Wouldn’t you rather return to Staxton Hall?’
As quickly as her mind had filled with fear when she had been attacked, now it cleared, leaving her calm and decisive. ‘I want to go. I wish to see for myself that Thomas is managing. I know Walter is due to arrive any day, but I would like to go all the same.’
‘Very well,’ William conceded, ‘but we can’t stay long. We must be back at Staxton Hall long before dark.’
‘I know.’
At Hollymead Eleanor saw that Thomas had taken charge of things admirably and was awaiting Walter’s arrival with his wife and child from the Netherlands. Already work to restore the part of the house that had been damaged by the fire was underway, with masons and carpenters and a large workforce working to the plan of the master-builder who employed them.
After bundling up some of her possessions that had escaped the fire—clothes, mainly, that, although no longer fashionable and might be a little on the small side, yet could be altered, having put the attack behind her and feeling glad that the two men would get their just punishment, Eleanor, in quiet and reflective mood, wandered away from Anne and Jane, who were looking over the ruins with interest. It was with a heavy heart that she dwelt on the tragedy that had befallen her uncle—York would be much the poorer without him.
On the edge of a water meadow she stopped and looked at the familiar landscape, her mind picturing the splendour of spring, when the trees would burst into life. William came up behind her.
‘Memories?’ His voice was quiet, his mood pleasant and attentive.
Eleanor nodded and turned and looked at him, lifting her face to his. The light from the sun added to its gentle beauty and William felt it strike to the very soul of him.
‘I was thinking of Uncle John. If I had not run away from Fryston Hall, he would still be alive. The guilt and remorse I feel is terrible and it will be a long time—if ever—that I will be able to live with that.’
‘You could not have foreseen the tragedy. It was Atwood who was responsible. Never forget that.’
When she turned and strolled on he walked beside her with a long, casual stride. They proceeded for several minutes in silence and then Eleanor paused.
‘I always came here to play as a child. I belonged here at Hollymead. I had loving, respectable parents who loved me inordinately and let me roam free. I used to sit beneath those trees,’ she said, pointing to a group of oaks ahead of her beside a brook, ‘and lose myself in daydreams and wishes.’
‘And what did you dream and wish for?’
‘That I would stay at Hollymead for ever—and like every other little girl I wished that I would be pretty. In spring this meadow is filled with flowers and in summer the scent is intoxicating. It’s a lovely place—an ideal place to play and dream.’
‘I know,’ William murmured.
‘You do?’
‘This is where you were that day I came to Hollymead and saw you for the first time.’
She looked at him. ‘You remember that? How extraordinary.’
He smiled. ‘Not really. I remember you were wearing a blue gown the colour of cornflowers adorned with white lace, and you had a daisy crown on your head.’
She laughed lightly, her teeth shining like pearls between her parted lips. ‘How observant you were for a fifteen-year-old boy, William. I would sit for hours making daisy chains. Sometimes my mother would help and sometimes my nursemaid. This meadow grows particularly fine daisies with fat, juicy stems—ideal for making daisy chains.’
‘You must have been a happy child.’
‘I was, but I didn’t know anything else so I thought that was the way of things.’
Strolling over to the trees, she sat beside the brook, wrapping her arms round her drawn-up knees and watching the crystal-clear
water tumble over its rocky bed in silvery, shimmering, distorted ripples. Sitting beside her, William watched her closely, appreciating the sweet scent of her. Her face was a bright rosy pink and her eyes snapped in a bright tawny blaze in the light of the sun, and he thought he had never seen such a glorious creature in his life.
Several moments passed in silence and then William lifted her hair and stroked the nape of her neck, encouraged when she didn’t pull away.
‘Tell me, Eleanor, do you still dream?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘You’re trembling.’
‘Am I?’ She twisted her head round and looked at him, unsmiling. ‘That’s your fault. In spite of everything I hold against you, you have that effect on me. You know, William, when I saw you at Fryston Hall on Catherine’s wedding day, I was determined to hate you. I tried, but for the time we have been together I have seen a different man to the one I had painted in my mind, a man who melted my self-engendered resistance, and I resented that. I wanted to dislike you, but that didn’t work either. And then you kissed me, and I no longer knew what to think.’
‘It would seem you are confused about me, Mistress Collinwood. I can see your dilemma.’
‘Can you?’ She believed he could. William Marston had a razor-sharp perception of her deepest fears. ‘I have never been so unsure of myself. You see, I don’t want to like you. Because of who you are and what you have done I don’t want to have anything to do with you, but when I asked for your protection I unwittingly made more problems for myself than I bargained for.’
‘And that scares you?’
‘Yes, if you must know, yes, it does.’
William watched her, both touched and faintly amused by her confession, and aroused by her nearness. ‘Do you fear me, Eleanor?’
‘No, not you,’ she said quietly, feeling his eyes on her, causing the colour in her cheeks to deepen. ‘It’s what you might do to me that I’m afraid of.’
As he continued to stroke the nape of her neck, a wonderful languor began to swell inside her, spreading through her with a glorious warm sensation. She knew that very soon her aunt would send for her, so she treasured every moment she had left at Staxton Hall. It didn’t seem possible that the feelings she had for William were growing out of all proportion. No matter how hard she tried to fight them, each day they grew stronger and stronger until there was nothing but this joyous moment that dominated her every waking moment.
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