by Lara Temple
‘Oh, no. Not really. If you like I shall show you my favourite; it is a little boy, reading a book. Very clever. But not now. I shall see you in the garden in half an hour, then. Wear something stout as we shall be crossing the field.’
‘Stout?’ Ari asked as the door closed.
‘For the mud. It rained last night.’
Ari sighed. ‘It is very strange, this English weather. One moment it is lovely and the next cold and dreadful. I miss Illiakos. At least one knows that in summer there will be not a drop of rain to ruin one’s plans.’
Christina glanced outside the window to the scudding clouds.
‘I rather miss this changeable weather.’
‘How could anyone miss such boring greyness?’
Christina turned at the unaccustomed sharpness in Ari’s words and Ari reached out contritely.
‘Father said you might be homesick if we came. I know I am being unfair, but I’m so scared you won’t want to return with us. I am being a shrew, forgive me, Tina.’
‘Oh, my dear, you have nothing to be sorry for. It is true part of me misses England, but the only home I have is with you. Your marriage is much more likely to change our lives than any choice of mine. It is natural that your father will wish you to marry soon.’
Ari snorted.
‘Oh, yes. He thinks he is so subtle. I know now he brought me here because he hoped I would charm Lord Stanton and bring him back to Illiakos. Really, sometimes Father is quite medieval.’
Christina tried very hard to keep her voice neutral. ‘You don’t like Lord Stanton?’
‘I like him very well, he has such understanding eyes and he makes me laugh, just as I remembered. But I do not wish to marry him and I certainly don’t think he wishes to marry me. Why should he? He likes his life and what he does and all that would end if he married me. Father thinks being ruler of Illiakos must be the best fate any man could aspire to, but truly, he is a little blind.’
Christina went to sit by her, pulling the younger woman to her.
‘You are so wise, Ari. Do please marry as you will.’
Ari turned her face into Christina’s shoulder.
‘I told you, I don’t want to marry for many, many years yet. And I wish you could stay with me always, Tina. I cannot imagine my life without you. You are more my mother than my own ever was.’
‘That isn’t fair, Ari. She was very ill.’
‘As was yours. That is why I am glad we found each other.’
‘So am I. Now come, let’s put on our stout boots and see what Lady Albinia has in store for us.’
* * *
What Lady Albinia had in store was a coven.
At least that was the word that sprang to Christina’s mind as she looked around the parlour at Briar Rose Cottage, adorned with hanging bouquets of drying herbs and a row of cast-iron covered pots bubbling on hooks in a fireplace that spanned almost the whole back wall.
There were four women of differing ages, sizes and styles seated on chairs also of all ages, sizes and styles and in various states of repair. The room was infused with a delicious smell of blackcurrants, probably from the large kettle gently steaming on the hob of the enormous fireplace.
‘Ladies, I would like to introduce her Royal Highness Princess Ariadne of Illiakos and Miss James.’
There was a rustling as the women rose rather hesitantly and curtsied like a chain of ducklings on a wave. The eldest, an elderly woman dressed in a simple cotton dress and apron, raised an eyeglass attached to a long riband slung around her neck and inspected the newcomers. Christina inspected her in return, surprised by a flickering of memory, though she doubted she had seen this woman before.
‘Which is which?’ The woman’s rough tones were definitely suspicious and Ari edged closer to Christina, but Lady Albinia was unfazed.
‘This is Princess Ariadne and this is Miss James. May I introduce Lady Penelope Attwood, and this is Mrs Dunston, Matty Frake and her daughter Mary Frake. Is that your blackcurrant tea brewing, Mary? Marvellous. I brought comfrey, Matty, as you asked. Where is there a chair? Ah, here.’
Christina and Ari allowed themselves to be manoeuvred on to a sofa that had been vacated by Lady Penelope, a pretty young woman with blonde curls who smiled shyly and limped over to sit next to the woman Albinia had called Mrs Dunston, who had the face of a melancholy poet but the bosom of a lusty tavern wench.
‘What are they, then? Herbs or flowers?’ Matty Frake demanded, clearly disregarding considerations of royalty.
‘Princess Ariadne is most definitely a flower, a hibiscus, I think. Miss James is both. Or perhaps neither.’
‘Nonsense.’ Matty Frake snorted.
Lady Albinia shrugged and held out her cup as Mary dispensed tea, her eyes sparkling through the steam as she filled Christina and Ari’s cups, beaming with obvious pleasure at the drama of newcomers and a princess to boot.
Christina sipped slowly, savouring the berry-flavoured tea as she glanced around the room. Her eyes fastened on a little bowl on the table by her side and she gasped.
‘Look, Ari, it—’ She stopped as everyone turned at her exclamation, her cheeks heating in embarrassment. Lady Albinia followed her gaze to the bowl and nodded.
‘It is the twin of the bowl in your parlour at the Hall, but this one is with kittens. Matty is not fond of dogs.’
‘Big lummoxy beasts,’ Matty growled. ‘No manners. You can take a closer look,’ she added grudgingly and Christina picked it up. Just like the puppy bowl, a row of kittens were carved into the inside border, caught in lunges and leaps after a ball of yarn. Whoever had carved it had done so with a great deal of love.
‘It’s exquisite,’ Ari said admiringly.
‘Made it for me.’ Matty beamed, her smile transforming her plump cheeks. ‘Ned taught him. My husband. He was a carpenter and a fine hand with wood. Could fix anything, build anything. “Matty”, he’d say to me, “you can bring a baby into this world and ease a woman’s pain and that’s your gift. Mine is to look at a tree and see a table fit for a king”.’
‘Your husband made these figurines and the bowl?’ Christina asked, suddenly realising why Matty looked familiar—she had just seen her, carved into that figurine of a woman with a basket and babe between her knees. ‘Is he alive?’
‘No and no, girl. He was a carpenter and made chairs and tables and houses. But he taught...’ She pressed her mouth shut and crossed her arms. ‘He could have if he wanted to, but he didn’t. He was a busy man, my Ned. Not that he didn’t always have time for young ’uns.’
‘Are you a midwife?’ Ari asked with interest.
‘Yes, that I am.’ Matty replied. ‘Like my mother before me and her mother before her. I don’t know what happened before that and it’s no concern of mine. My daughters are as well, like Mary here. Susan married a foreigner from up north, but she’s still birthing, too. I birthed his lordship, I did, since the fool of a doctor was laid up with a broken leg.’
‘Lord Stanton?’ Christina asked.
‘The same. It was a difficult birth and I don’t mind saying I was worn to the bone by the end of it, almost as much as poor Lady Wentworth. Young bodies aren’t always ready for birth and she was slim as a whippet and scared as a mouse. Wouldn’t push, just cried. Finally had to lay down the law with her and out he came.’
‘He must have been a beautiful baby,’ Ari said dreamily and Matty’s greying brows shot up.
‘No baby is beautiful when it’s pushed into the world, especially not one that was caught midway for longer than it ought. Ugly as a monkey and twice as cross. His father took one look at him and hurried out, pale as a sheet. Men!’
Christina couldn’t help smiling and feeling more than a little sorry for the young Lady Wentworth. And her son.
‘He were beautiful soon enough,’ Matty relented. ‘Stubborn as a bould
er, though. When he wanted something he didn’t scream and yell, he stayed put until he got it, didn’t he, Albinia?’
Lady Albinia smiled in assent.
‘To be fair he never asked for much, but when he did, or when he thought something was right, it is true he wouldn’t budge.’
Matty chuckled. ‘Never seen a boy of four stare down a grown man like that. A regular frost would set in with them ice eyes of his and his lordship would buckle like a rich man’s belt. But there weren’t none gentler with Lady Anne or Lady Olivia. I knew all was well the day Lady Anne was born. Ten years old and a little man already, but he went as soft as a moss pillow as soon as Lady Wentworth told me to put the baby in his arms. You remember that, Albinia. He’ll be all right in the end, I said, didn’t I? And I was right, wasn’t I?’
Lady Albinia’s smile was wistful, lost in memory. Christina’s mind conjured up an image, too. Wholly fictional but inescapable—a young boy, with hair a shade lighter but already tall, his face cut in serious lines. He was gingerly holding a cloth-swaddled bundle and for a moment she could almost see the softening Matty had described, curving his eyelids, just touching the corners of his mouth. Love.
She leaned forward, placing her cup on the table, sure the thudding of her heart and the burn of tears in her eyes must be obvious to all.
‘We never gave credence to those Wild Hunt tales around here, did we, Mary?’ Matty continued.
‘No, Mother, of course not,’ Mary replied with a smile. ‘People love a good story, that is all.’
‘What tales?’ Ari perked up and Matty snorted.
‘Nonsense about his lordship and his friends making pacts with the devil simply because any but a blind woman would see they are as handsome as sin and because no one could best them on a horse. Duels and fisticuffs and all manners of nonsense. Wild Hunt indeed. I’ve seen all too many virtuous women fall prey to men without scruples and I know the difference. I know there was that scandal with that fine foreign lady five years ago, but if you asked me it was more her doing than his, and if it wasn’t, he never did the like again after that, did he? Sometimes it takes a scare to get people on course. Straight as an arrow ever since, weren’t he? And we certainly never had to worry his lordship would send any business in the direction of the likes of Mary and me.’
‘Matty,’ Lady Albinia cautioned. ‘Perhaps that is not quite the right topic for our company.’
‘I don’t know about that. If more girls knew the way of the world, there’d be less of the sad side of business for us, isn’t that true, Mary?’
Mary sighed. ‘It is always hard to see a young woman’s life set off its course when a little knowledge might have kept her at its helm. But then I always remind myself that Father wouldn’t have been born if not for just such a mistake on the part of Grandmother Frake, Mother, and so we both have reason to be grateful for at least some slips. Good may sometimes come from bad, as the saying goes. Would you care for more tea, Miss James?’
Christina smiled at Mary and nodded, wondering how to coax these women into more indiscretions regarding Alex.
‘Mary and Matty birthed all my children,’ the melancholy Mrs Dunston said into the silence, a surprisingly childlike smile lightening her features and making her abundant bosom less discordant with her face.
‘Mrs Dunston is the vicar’s wife,’ Lady Albinia explained. ‘The vicarage is very low lying, so it benefits from much humidity. Good for watercress.’
‘Yes, but my nasturtiums have never taken.’ Mrs Dunston shook her head, the poetess-on-a-windy-cliff look returning and Christina groped about for something reassuring to say.
‘I love watercress, but we could never grow it on Illiakos. It is very arid.’
‘And stony,’ Ari added.
‘What a shame.’ Mrs Dunston brightened. ‘Do please come see my garden if you have time. I have quite the largest pumpkins in the valley, you know. Mr Dunston is very proud of them.’
Christina sipped her tea to hide the laughter bubbling up into a smile and met an answering sparkle in Albinia’s eyes.
‘I would love to visit your garden,’ she replied.
‘Perhaps when you come to visit the church? I overheard Lord Stanton discussing the possibility with Mr Dunston just this morning. You will come, won’t you, Miss James?’
The lady cast a rather frightened look at Ari as if unsure of the protocol for addressing royalty and Christina nodded.
‘We would be delighted, Mrs Dunston.’
‘Well, that’s settled.’ Matty patted her knees. ‘Now we have some business to attend to, don’t we, Lady Penny?’
‘Oh, but surely if we have guests...’
Lady Albinia intervened before Matty had a chance to.
‘I think her Highness and Miss James would be happy to hear what you have learned, Lady Penelope.’
‘If you are quite certain... Well, I received a letter from Mrs Brigham in Teignmouth in response to our query about arrowroot and...’
Christina and Ari listened as Penelope read out the letter discussing the various strains and applications of arrowroot.
Christina absorbed it all, wondering if her life might have been like this if she had remained in England and perhaps eventually met a man and married. Her parents’ families were considered respectable country gentry even if they weren’t affluent, but her father’s choice of profession would have no doubt limited her prospects. Who did doctors’ daughters marry? Another doctor? A vicar? Would she have grown watercress and pumpkins like the abundant Mrs Dunston?
It was all too late and far away. She was luckier than so many women—she had found a loving, giving family and even when Ari married she knew she would always have a home at the castle. Not just a home, a family. It was selfish to expect more. She would probably never realise her yearning for someone to cherish and love as she had Ari, a little boy or girl of her own, that warm fuzzy cheek resting on her palm as they sank into sleep. Or the even more unspoken yearning for someone to stand by her over that child. Not just someone...
Ari and King Darius would never forbid her from marrying someone at court, but she knew they preferred she stay as she was, part of their little family in a world where they were allowed few intimate connections in the maze of court life. She was their haven as much as they were hers. It would have to suffice.
* * *
‘That was lovely!’ Christina exclaimed to the fields that stretched out around them on their way back, replete with tea and lemon seed cake.
Ari nodded. ‘Is it true? Did Lady Penny’s father really divorce her mother?’
Lady Albinia didn’t appear at all fazed by the enthusiasm in Ari’s question, despite its impropriety.
‘We do not often discuss this, but since Lady Penelope herself confided in you, I see no reason not to. Yes, she was only a babe when it happened. Her mama was best friend and cousin to Celia Sinclair who became Lady Wentworth, Alexander’s mother, and they were both married rather young and were not happy, to say the least. It was Almeria, Penny’s mama, who encouraged poor Celia to follow her heart and run off with that horrid Phillipe Moreau. Unfortunately, not even Celia’s death in that snowstorm discouraged Almeria and she ran off with her own lover a couple months later saying she was determined to live her life as Celia could not. At least she waited until spring and her lover was an Englishman who did marry her after the divorce since there never was a crim. con. trial. If there had been and he had been called as party to the divorce, he could not have married her, you see.’
Christina did not see but nodded, too caught up in the tale of Alexander’s mother to care much about the luckier Almeria.
‘Did you know Lady Wentworth well, Lady Albinia?’
‘Quite well. The Sinclairs lived not far from here and though many of the Sinclair men, aside from Oswald, were shockingly scandalous, everyone thought Celia might yet
escape the taint. She was so beautiful and so adored, besides being quite an heiress, too, having inherited her mother’s fortune. I wasn’t among her particular friends, but I met her often once Mama decided she would do for my brother Arthur, Lord Wentworth, that is. Celia’s father was ailing and he didn’t care to wait until her debut so they settled her marriage before she had even turned sixteen. They were both far too young. Even at the time I knew it was wrong, but what could one do? It was considered the match of the Season, you know. There had just been a dreadful scandal with the eldest Sinclair boy, so the Sinclairs were buying some much-needed respectability and the Stantons a fortune in land. Alexander was born soon after and for a while it seemed she might be happy at least as a mother but then Grandmama sent Alexander to school and that year everything went wrong. That dreadful Moreau came to stay with the Falsteads. An émigré, they said. Dispossessed. But it was clear he... Well, never mind. Suffice it to say Mr Moreau thought it was in his interests to secure the favours of the sister of Sir Oswald Sinclair who was already knighted and a rising star in the War Office. I remember Moreau well. He was ten years older than Celia and charming as the devil himself. She was bored and lonely and poor Arthur was no match for him. I love my brother, but he can be a trifle...pedantic.’ She sighed.
‘How old was Lord Stanton when this happened?’ Christina asked.
‘Eight. He was home for Christmas, poor boy. It was quite, quite horrid. I was here as well. And Sir Oswald. Alexander found her letter first and took it to Oswald who went after them. For two days we heard nothing. Poor Arthur was distraught and it was even worse when the news came. He was in such a state Mama took him away after that and I went with Oswald to care for Alexander until he returned to school.’
‘Oh, the poor boy!’ Ari exclaimed, reflecting Christina’s emotions, but not her outrage.
‘I don’t understand. Didn’t your brother take Lord Stanton with him? He was only eight, he must have been devastated. How could a parent abandon their child like that? It is unforgivable!’
