Well, her basket was almost full and she had better go down the hill and find out why Ralph had come to call. He was doing it too often, and it worried her.
She had known Ralph all her life and understood him very well. She also held him responsible for Sybil’s death. But whether she wished to be aware of it or not, his dark good looks reminded her of Peter Carew. He lacked Carew’s maturity and depth, but he had a touch of the same adventurousness. He was like—an echo.
And she was now a wife only in name. From the day of his first fit, Harry had ceased to be capable in bed. There would be no more lovemaking, no more children.
With Stephen as well as Tobias to look after, she had more than enough on her hands and knew it, but desire did not listen to reason. Busy as she was and unattractive as Harry was, there were times when she felt deprived.
There were times indeed when the deprivation was almost unbearable, especially on sleepy summer afternoons, full of cuckoos and wood pigeons, when grasshoppers creaked and bumblebees murmured in the meadows, or on warm nights when a full moon looked down on the moors and owls called hauntingly to each other and the whole world was full of mystery and dreams. Then even Harry would have been better than nothing and Carew…would have been heaven. She thought of him often, and sometimes, looking at Ralph…
She was angry with herself about that. It was shameful, appalling that Ralph, after what he had done to Sybil, could still create that physical feeling, that jerk in the guts.
And at the moment he was in Allerbrook House, probably talking to Harry, who wouldn’t particularly welcome him, because he had noticed how often Ralph Palmer called and had commented on it. She had better go down and deal with things as best she could.
On entering the house, she stopped short in alarm, because it sounded as though a riot were in progress. Then the racket resolved itself into boyish yells and through the door to the east wing ran Stephen, holding a book in his hands and pursued by a furious Tobias, shouting, “Give it back or I’ll kill you!”
Stephen was much the larger of the two, being fifteen now and sturdily built, while Tobias was only nine and not tall for his age. He was, however, wiry and fleet of foot, and though not normally aggressive, could lose his temper forcefully when provoked. Presumably he had been provoked now, because he was hard on Stephen’s heels, and as the two of them crashed into the hall he caught up with him, flung his arms around his cousin’s waist, kicked violently at Stephen’s Achilles tendons and sank his teeth into his cousin’s shoulder.
“Boys!” Jane shrieked. “Boys, stop it!”
They took no notice. Peggy, appearing from the direction of the kitchen, said sourly, “Try a bucket of cold water, ma’am. Just shoutin’ at them won’t help.”
Then Ralph, who had been talking to Harry at the far end of the hall, was there. Harry was on his feet, gripping his stick, but could move only slowly. Ralph had reached the scene in a few swift strides. He grabbed Stephen by one arm and Tobias by the collar of his jacket. One good wrench, and they were separated, breathless and scarlet in the face.
“What do you think you’re doing?” bellowed Ralph, shaking them. “Stop behaving like barbarians!”
“He’s snatched my book on travel! I was reading and he just took it off me!”
“I’m interested in travel. I’m going to travel one day!” Stephen retorted. “Did you know that not as much as fifteen years ago, a man called Richard Hore set off from Graves-end on the Thames with two ships and went all the way to the new lands in the northwest? And he lost his ships and half his men, but got a passage home with one of the French ships that go all that way to fish….”
“Stephen!” Jane shouted. “Give Tobias his book and apologize to him!”
“Hore and his men were nearly skeletons from starvation!” Stephen said excitedly. “But they seized control of the French vessel just the same. They sailed it to Cornwall and marched through Somerset, wanting to go to London overland because they were so sick of the sea. They spent a night at Dunster Castle on the journey! They were that close to us! I wish I’d seen them. I wish I’d been old enough! You’ll never travel, Toby. You’re just interested in Allerbrook. You say yourself you don’t want to travel. So why won’t you lend me your book?”
“Because Dr. Spenlove said I was to read it!” Tobias tore himself free from Ralph and pushed a tangle of light brown hair out of his eyes. “It was the task he gave me while he was away and you just took the book off me!”
“Oh, you always do what the tutor tells you, don’t you, you sweet little teacher’s pet. You read books about religion, too, dear pious Tobias. Well, well, that rhymes! Pious Tobias! Pious Tobias! Pious—”
“I will kill you one day!” yelled Tobias, and would have kicked his older cousin on the shins except that Stephen dodged.
“Be quiet, both of you!” Jane marched forward and seized the book from Stephen. “How dare you behave like this? Tobias, I won’t have you kicking people. As for you, Stephen, snatching your cousin’s book and then making fun of him—you started this. Apologize! At once!”
Stephen visibly considered saying, “Won’t!” but Ralph shook him again and he thought better of it. “All right. Sorry, Toby.” It was grudging, but at least audible.
“Thank you, Ralph,” said Jane and smiled at Harry, who by this time had reached them. “Toby,” Jane said, “take the book and read it in the parlour. Stephen, go back to the schoolroom and get on with whatever task Dr. Spenlove set for you. No doubt he set you something to do while he is away. What was it?”
“Stupid Latin. Tenses,” said Stephen. “I’d rather study French or Italian. There are people who really speak those languages.”
“If he set you Latin then you’ll do Latin,” snapped Ralph. “Go and get on with it. Now!”
He and Jane watched in silence as the two boys went off in different directions. “That lad Stephen should have been sent away to school long ago,” he remarked. “Why wasn’t he?”
“I said no,” said Harry. “Younglings should…stop at home.” Peggy, who had helped him up the hall, steered him to a seat and he took it thankfully. With an impatient gesture he signed to Jane to finish the explanation.
“Harry agrees that the boys must study,” Jane said. “Toby must learn to run Allerbrook and Stephen has his way to make, but Harry doesn’t want to send them to school, to mix with the gentry, in case they get ideas above themselves. Spenlove teaches them.”
“Spenlove seems to do it all!” said Ralph. “He’s the chaplain, the land agent, the tutor and he does calligraphy and illumination, too. Where is he now? It’s really him I’ve come to see.”
“He’s gone to look at our land on the other side of Somerset,” said Jane. “You know we own two farms there? Harry and I have decided to sell them. Collecting rent and keeping an eye on them generally has never been convenient. We are thinking of buying something closer at hand instead. Spenlove’s gone to see about selling them and I don’t know when he’ll be back. Why?”
“Father Drew wants to see him. I’m Father Drew’s emissary, in a way. He’s worried about a rumour he’s heard and he wanted Spenlove to go to Minehead to find out what was happening.”
“Rumour?”
“Yes. Ever since that edict went out, turning us all into Protestants, there’s been trouble rumbling and burning underground. It’s like peat fire, creeping under the surface and appearing here and there, without warning, as if from nowhere.”
“I know,” said Jane with feeling, recalling the fire that had caused Harry’s second fit.
“It’s because there are people like Father Drew,” said Ralph, “who cling to tradition and get involved in arguments with the likes of Peter Carew, and others who want to prise us all loose from the old ways and are prepared to go to any lengths to do it. I’ve noticed that all the images of Our Lady have gone from your private chapel. Very wise!”
“Dr. Spenlove has even put away the crucifix he used to keep in his room,” Jane
said. “And I’ve taken off the altar cloth that Eleanor and I embroidered and stored it in a chest. Everything’s very plain now.”
“Quite,” said Ralph grimly. “You should be safe. Because there is apparently a faction in Minehead that’s determined to make everyone conform to Protestant plainness. That’s what the rumour is about. They’ve been holding public meetings, so the pedlar said who brought word of it to Clicket. Everyone was talking about it last night in the White Hart. Father Drew was there and so was I, and he asked me to come up here and see if Dr. Spenlove would go to Minehead on his behalf. He can’t ride so far nowadays. I can’t go to Minehead myself—I’m leaving for another tour of duty at court tomorrow and it doesn’t do to be unpunctual. But I said I could call here today. Drew couldn’t. He had a marriage to perform this morning and a baptism this afternoon.”
As if casually, Jane moved them both farther away from Harry. “I need to go to Minehead myself soon,” she said quietly. “I could go tomorrow—it’s as good a day as any. I want to order some new clothes for me and the boys.” She smiled. “Our usual dressmaker, Madame La Plage, will make the things. She’s still in business. Like Father Drew, she doesn’t ride far anymore, but her son Philip does that part of it. He’ll bring the clothes out to me for fittings. While I’m about it, I expect I can find out anything that Father Drew wants to know. I’ll see him first and then go on to Minehead. I won’t tell Harry it’s because of the rumours, in case he worries.”
“Does he worry?”
“Yes, I think he does. There isn’t any real danger, is there?” she asked.
“Not for a lady riding in on a simple domestic errand—at least, I shouldn’t think so. But be careful. Take note of what you hear or see, but don’t go making yourself conspicuous or asking questions. Who will you take as escort?”
“Tim Snowe. He’s a good solid fellow,” Jane said. “I’d better ask you to stay for supper. I’ve brought some bilberries home.”
After a somewhat silent supper, at which the boys were quiet and chastened, Jane saw Ralph out. Standing beside his horse as he prepared to mount, she said, “Surely you or Father Drew could have found someone in Clicket who could go to Minehead. Why didn’t you?”
Ralph, with one foot in the stirrup, said, “Don’t you know?”
“No.”
“I was the one who suggested Spenlove. I said because he and Drew are old friends. But really, it made an excuse to come and see you.”
“I see,” said Jane. “Ralph, you find too many excuses to call at Allerbrook. You mustn’t. Please.”
“Why not? Jane, you’re still beautiful. I hate to see you like this, tied to that old man in his chair. What use is he to you? You should have a fine husband, someone who appreciates you and gives you silk dresses and will take you about and be a good-looking escort to you. This is all wrong!”
“It can’t be helped.” She tried to be brisk. “How is Blanche? I should have asked before. I’ve seen very little of her, but I glimpsed her the other day in Clicket and thought she was becoming pretty. She must be about seven years old by now.”
“Blanche is very pretty, and lively as I always was, and you’re prattling. Jane, I don’t want to exchange social politenesses with you. I would rather comfort you, hold you, make your life warmer….”
“Ralph, please stop it! Please go.”
Ralph took his foot out of the stirrup. “Can I kiss you goodbye?”
“No.”
“Really?” said Ralph, and with that he took hold of her, catching her upper arms in hard brown hands and pulling her against him. “Just a kiss won’t hurt anyone,” he said, and with that, his mouth had covered hers.
I mustn’t feel like this, I mustn’t, I MUSTN’T! Jane, appalled, shouted the warning silently to herself, knowing that even if he were Peter Carew, she would have no right to let him hold her like this, and knowing also that Ralph was not Carew; that one Carew was worth fifty Ralph Palmers, knowing that…
Knowing that a starved body, an empty heart couldn’t make these distinctions; that some needs were too deep, too primitive to discriminate. She felt her own response and then, horrified, felt his. She wrenched herself back. “No, Ralph, no! Harry might be looking out of the window!”
“Yes, there is that, I suppose,” said Ralph reluctantly, and let her go. Only, however, to smile down into her flushed face. “I’ll be back,” he said. “Goodbye, dear Jane. My love.”
“Not your love. Never. Not possibly. Goodbye, Ralph!”
He put his foot back into the stirrup and this time swung into the saddle, and with a grin and then a salute, hand to velvet cap, touched his heels to his horse and rode away.
“I’m not Sybil!” said Jane furiously to his retreating back.
Somewhere, softly, in the combe, a wood pigeon called.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
A Face in the Crowd
1550
“These days,” said Father Drew unhappily, leading Jane into the cool interior of St. Anne’s church, “I don’t know whether I’m coming or going.” He looked old. His hair, which he no longer wore in a tonsure, had become completely white and covered his head in a mass of fluffy curls like a fleece. He moved stiffly. In this damp climate the joint evil got nearly everyone in the end, if they lived long enough.
“I’ve tried to keep the faith without upsetting anyone in authority, but it’s like being a tightrope walker at a fair. Look in here.” He steered her into the Lady Chapel. “The Lord Protector sends out these orders,” said Drew, “but he doesn’t understand. People grow fond of things. Clicket folk like the mass to be said in Latin! And they’d grieve if this chapel were changed. They like it as it is, and where’s the harm?”
He pointed to the statue of the Virgin and Child which was the chapel’s main feature, and to the small altar with its candles and the very pretty altar cloth which had been embroidered by loving female hands in Clicket. Jane was reminded of the one she and Eleanor had made, which was now folded away in a press.
“Women especially come here to pray, for children, if they’re barren, or for their husbands if they’re worried about their menfolk for any reason. They feel that Our Lady might intercede for them more willingly even than Christ, being a woman herself. What’s so wrong about that? They find comfort. But now the orders are that such things are popish and I must get rid of the image and the candles. But my flock don’t want me to.”
“I’m sorry,” said Jane with genuine sympathy.
“Poor Marjorie Wright at the White Hart, she died two days ago,” Father Drew said. “Some trouble inside her that no medicines could cure. The funeral’s this afternoon. She used to come and pray to Our Lady for help. She still died, but I think she found comfort here. Why shouldn’t people be allowed comfort if they want it?”
“Marjorie’s dead?” Jane was startled. “I knew she was ailing, but I didn’t realize things were so bad.”
“It happened very quickly at the end.” Drew sighed. “I’ve a young relative who’s just been appointed as vicar of All Saints, over at North Molton, on the other side of the moor. He’s a Protestant, right enough, but he doesn’t mind a few images of Our Lady about his place. Again, his parishioners like them and he says he’d sooner lead his flock than drive it. He wouldn’t have grudged Marjorie her comfort. He’s only in his twenties, but he’s got sense.”
He sounded so unhappy that Jane hardly knew what to say to him. “I’m so sorry for it all,” she said at last.
“So am I!” Drew was shakily angry. “And now there’s this trouble brewing in Minehead. It seems that someone there’s gathering followers and they want to take it upon themselves to rid the west country of popish symbols. I want to know what’s really happening, that’s all. Mistress Allerbrook, I can’t sleep at night for worrying. But I can’t ride to Minehead myself. I can just about get round my parish. I’ve no curate. The last one walked out just because I wouldn’t dismantle this Lady Chapel.”
“I thought I h
adn’t seen him lately,” Jane said. “Well, I’m on my way to Minehead now. I’ll see what I can discover for you.”
Minehead wasn’t large. Surrounded by farms and parkland, it was a little cluster of houses and a few shops and businesses at the foot of the rounded headland that was known as North Hill. A few buildings extended up the hillside and the parish church in particular stood high, overlooking most of the dwellings. Inland, a hill called Grabbist stretched from its butt end at Dunster, two miles to the east, and reached out toward Minehead, where one side of it fell away into the valley between it and North Hill and the other overlooked a wider valley, with the smooth, heathery heights of Dunkery on the far side.
Just below North Hill was a small harbour, big enough for fishing boats and small merchant vessels, and close by stood a huddle of fishermen’s cottages, a miniature village in its own right.
The town as a whole was a sleepy place as a rule (seamen regularly complained that it was far too sleepy and the harbour needed better maintenance) but today it was different. As Jane and Tim rode in, they saw knots of people, talking earnestly and gesticulating. When Jane called at the fabric warehouse there was hardly anyone to serve her, and the young man who eventually did seemed distracted.
Her purchases made, she told him to deliver the cloth to Madame La Plage, and then rejoined Tim so as to go on to the La Plage house herself. They took the easiest if not quite the shortest route around by the shore, where they found a crowd clustered around an orator on a makeshift platform made out of crates. He seemed to be lecturing them on the sinful nature of popishness.
It struck her that the speaker looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t put a name to him until, as she and Tim turned their mounts away and rode toward the harbour, Tim said, “That was Andrew Shearer, shouting fit to bust his lungs on that pile of crates.”
The House of Allerbrook Page 20
