‘But you’ve wanted to go,’ she snapped irritably, ‘which amounts to the same thing.’ Then with a supreme effort she controlled herself. If he should walk out of the house now with the baby in his arms and go back to England, there was nothing she or anyone else could do about it. ‘I will speak to Papa. He will overlook a lack of investment on your part if I ask him. He’ll not be hard on you as he would be to anyone not his son-in-law.’
Michael smiled humourlessly to himself as he went to lay the heir to Sotherleigh in his crib. Old Monsieur Brissard would never let him go. The money had not been important. It had simply been another means by which to keep him more thoroughly tied to the business.
‘You shall not intervene for me,’ he said, turning back to her. His tone was the one he used when she knew she had driven him as far as she dared. ‘This is a matter between your father and myself. I’m going to see him now.’
She followed him at a distance out of the apartment and then looked down over the banisters to watch as he descended the three flights curving round the well of the staircase. He was a good-looking man, more so now than when she had first seen him. His years suited him. She had not wanted to marry at all, content to be her father’s adored daughter, able to ask and to receive anything she wanted. Men had always been attentive to her beauty, but the thought of the intimacies of marriage had been repugnant to her and she had frozen all her suitors away. Then for the first time in her life her father had asked her to do something in return for all the generosity he had lavished on her for the twenty-four years of her life.
‘I want you to marry this Englishman, Sophie,’ he had said. ‘He has a flair for the silk business that will guarantee the prosperity of Brissard’s long after I’ve gone. I know from those two slight attacks I’ve had that my heart is not as it should be. If anything happened to me unexpectedly you, my dear child, would be left on your own and that worries me even more than knowing that all I’ve worked for would have to be sold. Michael Pallister will be a rich man himself when Charles Stuart regains the throne of England, which to my mind is inevitable since the English are basically as loyal to the monarchy as we in France are to ours. At the present moment his plans are to return to England with the King, whenever that should be, but if married to you and involved in the business to the point where he could not leave either you or the business, your future would be secure.’
‘Suppose he should sell the business and make me return to England with him?’ she had asked, ‘I never want to leave France — or my home for that matter.’
‘When has anyone ever been able to make you do anything you did not want to do?’
It was true. She had learned early how to twist others round her little finger, firstly by stamping and screaming in childhood until all feared she would have a fit, and then later by her wits. She had nodded, reassured. ‘You’re right, Papa. I will marry him.’
So it had come about. Michael had been as easy to hook as a garlicky escargot out of a shell. Her marital duties had been as bad as she had feared, although she supposed other women would have termed him a good lover. She had simulated a show of passion when she deemed it necessary; it had been based on what she had seen when as still a young girl she had come upon a maidservant and a groom making love in the coach house. They had not known she was in the loft and she had watched everything through a gap in the floorboards, disgusted and yet fascinated.
As she stood by the banisters, remembering how everything had brought her to this moment, she heard a door open and shut downstairs as Michael went through to her father’s salon. Then she smiled smugly. Now the trap was closing on him just as she and her father had originally contrived.
She turned back into the apartment. As soon as the partnership papers were signed, she and Michael would give up this section of the house and become integrated with her parents’ household again. She would also insist on separate bedrooms. It was inevitable that when a couple slept together love-making would be more frequent than otherwise, men being the way they were. Let Michael take a mistress as any sensible Frenchman would do in these circumstances. As a partner in Brissard, he would be able to afford a second establishment and she would be spared those ordeals. Altogether everything was about to work out extremely well. She wondered if the time had come to throw away the alchemist’s bottle with its potent fluid, but then decided to keep it. There was every likelihood that Michael would want to make regular visits home now that there were no obstacles in the way, and there might be occasions when she would have a special reason to prevent them. Suppose he should want to take Jean-Robert to visit Sotherleigh. She was determined never to let that happen!
Familiar now with the dosage, she could always give Michael a harmless drop or two very occasionally to encourage him to believe he still had some slight stomach trouble that flared up now and again. Then she could blame his condition on nervous excitement should he wonder why the pains became more acute whenever he was on the eve of going to England.
She went to the cupboard where she kept the bottle to make sure it was placed inconspicuously among her beauty lotions and the potions she kept for various minor ailments and afflictions, including the devastating headaches that fortunately had begun to trouble her far less frequently.
Carefully she set some of the flasks of herbal tinctures and decoctions in front of the one with an equally innocuous label, which was virtually invisible at the back of the shelf in a corner. Satisfied it would remain undiscovered, she closed the cupboard again and hid the key where only she could find it.
16
Julia and Adam moved into their London house. They had furnished it with good pieces from Warrender Hall and new furniture that had been commissioned from a London cabinetmaker as soon as they were betrothed. Michael had told her to take what she wanted of spare bed-hangings and linen embroidered by Anne and Katherine, since there was enough at Sotherleigh to have fitted out three or four houses. From shops she chose Persian rugs, Turkish carpets and French tapestries to give a warm look to the oak-panelled rooms. Not all the wedding presents received had been to her taste or Adam’s, but she put on display those they had liked and gave special place to Michael and Sophie’s gift of a table set of antique silver Parisian candelabra and to Christopher’s pair of studded leather chairs.
Now that she was a wife of a Member of Parliament, Julia knew she could no longer parade with her ribbons, but that did not mean she could not visit her business contacts and her workshops whenever she wished. She would have to juggle her time, for a flood of social duties would soon descend upon her. When Adam jokingly offered to spare her the tedious task of looking for a pretty girl to take her place in the ribbon parade, they had a merry dispute over it. Yet he hid from her his underlying belief that whatever he did she would never be jealous, because she did not care enough. If he strayed she would be angry, but his unfaithfulness would never reach the depth of her heart.
He had thought after their wedding night that he had won her to him and that the invisible barrier of her hankering love for another man had been vanquished. But he had been in a haze of pleasure himself and had not realized it had not happened. Frequently she expressed her fondness for him, praised his love-making and the power of his body, met him eagerly in whatever he wished and whether by day or night showed she enjoyed his company. Yet Christopher Wren stood between them like a solid wall of the building materials that had aroused his special interests. Adam had the uncanny feeling that they shared her. It was as if Julia was giving to him all that was expected of a wife while keeping her innermost feelings for the sweetheart of her childhood. Why he should be so certain of this aspect he did not know, but it was probably due to loving her totally as he did, gaining through it an extra sense that guided him into her most secret thoughts.
He tried to tell himself that he had only to be patient and she would become his as he wanted her to be, a full communication between them with nothing held back of body and soul. It was not possessiveness, f
or he saw her as his equal in all things except the love she was failing to give him. He was unhappily aware that the jealousy lacking in her had begun to smoulder in him, something he had never known before, and he would have to keep it under control or else it could prove ruinous to all that was right between the two of them.
Julia found the girl she was looking for among her own weavers at the Carter Lane workshop. Her name was Alice Jones, a quiet, smiling Welsh girl with bright eyes, pale yellow hair, a graceful walk and a ladylike look about her that would be a pleasing contrast to Nell’s red-headed exuberance. Moreover, she was about Julia’s own size and height, which meant that the crimson and cream gowns could be used without an additional expense.
‘I’d like to be in the ribbon parade, Mrs Warrender,’ she accepted with awe. ‘When may I start?’
‘Tomorrow. I’ll rehearse you here and in the morning I’ll take you to the Heathcock where you’ll meet young Nell and the Needham boys.’
Alice proved a most suitable substitute and since she was Julia’s representative she received the same courteous attention from the shopkeepers, her lilting Welsh voice pleasing to the ear. There were prettier girls at the workshop, who resented not being chosen, but they were rough-spoken and would not have been able to conduct themselves in the same manner as the country maid from the outskirts of Ponty-Pool. When not on her deliveries, she wove at her loom.
‘What brought you to London?’ Julia had enquired when first engaging her as a weaver.
‘I came to live with my aunt on Cheapside when I was orphaned. She’s an invalid now and I look after her.’
Julia had come to know the backgrounds of all the girls and older women that she employed in her city workshop, while those at Briar House were already known to her from local association. She noted how her country workers dealt with their own domestic problems, having family and neighbours around them for help, but London embroiderers and weavers were often without such support, having left small towns and villages for work in London which was lacking at home. A community spirit did exist in many streets, particularly in the east end of the city and round the docks, but elsewhere help could be in short supply in certain times of trouble. Julia, aware of such troubles and problems, let it be known that she would always be willing to listen to any of her workers who wished to discuss their difficulties with her. Although she was younger than many of them she had the privilege of birth, and most had country memories or had heard talk of the females of the upper classes that cared maternally for tenants and villagers. After an initial shyness, which could afflict the most loud-mouthed of them, they did begin to turn to her and found a sympathetic ear if they wanted advice or practical help if it was needed. In many cases concern for their children came first.
As a result they were all individuals to her, not just hands at the looms or heads bent over embroidery. She knew of their hopes and their fears, of the husbands who were brutal, drank too much or coughed from lung disease. The younger ones confessed to broken hearts, homesickness and occasionally illegitimate pregnancies, in which case she kept them away from the abortionists by retaining them in her employ, making sure they gave birth in decent conditions and finding good country homes for the offspring where the mothers could visit if so inclined. Her reputation as a good employer spread, for her kind were in a minority. So many embroiderers and weavers applied to her for work that she rented the adjoining premises when they became empty and with the owners’ permission had a dividing door knocked through. From doubling her extensive output she now trebled it and looked to further increase before long.
It infuriated her when she discovered that the Pallister designs were being copied on inferior ribbons and sold cheaper. Yet the shopkeepers assured her that those who looked for quality were not tempted away from her wares. Nevertheless she was sure some custom must have slipped away, and realized she should start bringing out new designs to keep ahead all the time. For this she turned to Mary, whose imaginative embroidery had its own charm. The first of these designs was a chain of hearts and love knots that Mary had first produced for Julia’s wedding garters. It was an immediate success as were the others that followed.
In the meantime her social life had been gathering momentum. Hardly had the London residence been put in order when the first of the invitations to social functions began to arrive, and they had continued unceasingly ever since. Never to be forgotten in the early batch was one with a royal seal that she had opened first, sharing the moment with Adam. It was an invitation from the King to attend a banquet at the Palace of Whitehall.
‘We’re going to sup with Charles,’ she exclaimed, throwing her arms around Adam’s neck and hugging him in her excitement.
Laughing, he pulled her on to his knees. ‘My guess is that all the other Members of Parliament and their wives have been invited too.’
‘The more the merrier! What an evening it will be!’
Molly, who had adapted to London life very quickly, while still preferring to be at Sotherleigh, was equally excited over the invitation. To a lady’s maid, dressing one’s mistress for a Court function was second only to dressing her as a bride. She was even more excited than Julia, although nothing distracted her from having everything ready and in order when the evening came.
Adam was in dove-grey and silver brocade and since the gentlemen wore their hats indoors on formal occasions, his was cherry red with a grey ostrich plume that curled around the crown and floated a foot out behind him. Julia in saffron taffeta twinkled with her diamonds, her sleeves and hems looped with gold-embroidered Pallister ribbons. He was looking forward to the evening and confidently expected her to be the loveliest woman present.
Whitehall consisted of early-Tudor buildings with some parts still older. The ruins of an ancient castle that had once belonged to a Scottish nobleman still marked part of the grounds and was known as the Scotland Yard. One notable improvement to the Palace had been made earlier in the century during the reign of Charles II’s grandfather, James — a Renaissance building of great size and beauty designed by Inigo Jones, who had been inspired by the work of Palladio in Italy. It was known as the Banqueting House and it was at the steps of its entrance that the Warrender coach took its turn in the stream of equipages disgorging richly dressed passengers. As the coach ahead drew away, Julia recognized with delight the man who had alighted from it.
‘There’s Christopher going up the steps!’ she exclaimed, the radiance in her face giving her away to Adam’s knowing eye.
‘What a pleasant surprise!’ he remarked wryly. Yet it was to be expected that the fellow should be there, for apart from Christopher’s fame and his having known the King since childhood, there was another connection in his cousin’s having been appointed secretary to the Lord Chancellor.
They entered the richly decorated entrance hall. Christopher, happening to glance back over his shoulder, saw them and returned to greet them with pleasure.
‘This is my good fortune,’ he declared. ‘These grand occasions are not really to my taste and it’s splendid to be with friends. How are you settling down in your new home?’
‘Very well indeed,’ Adam answered.
‘We like our house immensely,’ Julia endorsed. ‘You will remember I always wanted to live where I could see the King drive by to Whitehall?’
‘I remember indeed,’ Christopher replied. The smiles they exchanged were on the memory of how it should have been in a house designed by him.
Adam sensed some silent message passing between them. ‘I hope you will dine with us soon,’ he said courteously. It seemed to him it was better to get to grips with this situation on his own territory than that Julia should be yearning after the sight of her early love.
Christopher bowed. ‘I should be honoured.’
They passed through anterooms and reached the open north door of the long and beautiful banqueting room. Julia knew that Katherine had thought of its architect and designer only as the vandal who had had Elizabeth’
s gowns cut up for the masque costumes he had created for James’s queen, but his marvellous talent could not be denied. Enhancing the splendid lines of the pilastered and gilded rooms were allegorical paintings on the ceiling by Rubens, depicting the union of England and Scotland and the benefits of government under James. Christopher would have given Adam and Julia precedence into the King’s presence there, but his name was announced first and he had to go ahead. Then their turn came.
Side by side they advanced up through the gathering to the crimson canopied and carpeted dais where the King sat on a gilded throne. A flicker of recognition showed in his dark eyes as Julia made her first deep curtsy to him and Adam bowed low with doffed hat.
‘We have had the pleasure of seeing you twice without speaking, madam,’ Charles said smilingly to her after a brief word with Adam.
She was astounded that he should have remembered. ‘Actually it was three times, sire.’
‘Oh?’ He looked intrigued. ‘How could I have forgotten that third occasion!’
‘It was the first. I stood with my mother while you took refreshment on horseback outside the inn at Houghton in Sussex. My father, Colonel Robert Pallister, had been with you until shortly before.’
‘You are Robert’s daughter?’ Charles rose at once and came to take her hand and put it to his lips. ‘We give you welcome at all times to Whitehall.’
She curtsied again. Then Adam led her away to where they could watch others being presented. He saw her look for Christopher, who appeared to be more important to her than the royal honour she had been shown, but Christopher was engaged in conversation with someone.
‘I think after what the King said our names will be permanently on the guest list, Julia,’ Adam said, drawing her attention back to him.
She looked surprised. ‘Really?’
‘It’s certainly what he meant.’ He spoke quietly so as not to be overheard.
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