The Emperor (29 page)

It was clear it was going to be another hot day. The
clouds lost their dramatic imperial colouring as the sun rose
higher, and the sky grew pale with heat. There was no
breath of wind to stir the air or disperse the flies, which
hung above them in black clouds as they walked along the narrow lanes between high hedgerows. Durban picked two
long sprays of fern as he passed, and tucked the ends under
his horses' browbands to protect their eyes. The tormented
horses swished their tails continuously, and shook their
heads violently with a musical ringing of bit-rings, but there
was no relief until James, in desperation, shook the reins
and sent the cream ponies into a trot.

There were not many people about yet, but those they
passed turned to look at them curiously, for the pale golden
phaeton with the coral-coloured cushions was a conspicuous
enough rig, even without the addition of two dazzlingly
beautiful cream Arabs, trotting exactly in step with their
flashy, high knee-action. A woman with a covered basket;
three ragged children and a crone gleaning; a farm labourer
riding sideways on a cart-mare while he filled his pipe; a
respectable-looking farmer on a heavyweight bay; a
simpleton in a smock herding geese: all stopped and stared as they went by.
In
the fields to either side even the brown
dairy cattle and the recently-shorn sheep seemed to lift their
heads in amazement; in one meadow three horses which had
been turned out to graze kinked up their tails and galloped
beside them, snorting excitedly, and stopped with three
bounces and a dry-grass skid as they ran out of field.

Durban fixed his eyes on the back of his master's head
and closed his mind to speculation as he posted along,
leading Nez Carré on a short rein, and keeping a respectful
eye on the big horse's teeth, with which he tended to express
his resentment of cavalier treatment, such as being made to
trot beside an inferior horse, rather than in front of it. The
long-suffering Forest rolled an eye in mute protest as Nez
Carré's teeth clashed like cymbals a fraction of an inch from his neck, and then lowered his ears to their most Inoffensive
angle, semaphoring self-effacement to his unwilling
companion.

The horses began to sweat, and James slowed to a walk,
and the flies descended again. The lanes were sickly with the
scent of fool's parsley and sweet-nettle. It was a dull time of
year for flowers: in the hedgerow only willowherb and white
campion and mouse-ear, and along the edges of the
harvested fields, fumitory and shepherd's purse and a fringe of scarlet poppies. Now the land was rising a little, and they were in pasture country, and the dry, prickly smell of sheep
was everywhere; before them, distant but growing nearer,
the high ground of the blue-brown moors was like a line
ruled across the sky.

They came at last to the village of Coxwold. James
stopped outside the inn and beckoned Durban alongside.

‘
You'd better take the horses in and stable them, and find
out where the house is. I don't know what name they'll
know the house by, but they must know the Countess of
Strathord. I imagine it caused a stir when she moved into
the neighbourhood. I'll wait here.’

Durban nodded and led the two horses in under the arch
to the coach-yard. James got down from the phaeton and
led the Arabs to the horse-trough at the road's edge. They
lowered their heads and blew at the surface of the water, and then dipped their slender muzzles and drank noisily.
Bubbles of air hung like silver beads on their whiskers, and
the ripples fanned out from their lips, fluttering the reflec
tion of the white sky, and the creeper growing over the inn's
face, already beginning to turn to scarlet. A beef-faced young man drove past in a gig with yellow wheels, and
turned back to stare with his mouth open.

At last Durban came back.

‘To the end of the street, sir, and turn left. It's about half
a mile further on, on the left, a red-brick house with a white
picket,' he said. He cocked an enquiring eye at his master,
squinting a little against the burnished sun. 'They asked if
we wanted rooms for tonight, sir. I wondered what your
plans were?’

James smiled at him faintly. 'I don't think I have any
plans.' Despite his summer tan, he looked pale; there was a
white line around his mouth. 'You'd better get up. I shall
need you to hold the horses when we get there.’

Durban got up beside his master, and they drove on
down the village street. 'This must be it, sir,' he said a few moments later.

James saw a white picket, a red-brick house, a male
servant in a dark-blue apron cleaning the front windows, who turned his head at the sound of the horses. A female servant appeared at the open front door with a mat to beat,
stared, and ran back inside calling. The ponies stopped at
the gate and Durban jumped down and went to their heads, and James got down from the phaeton, seeing his own feet
tiny and far away, as if viewed through a perspective-glass.
The thunderous noise in his ears, blocking out all other
sound, must be his own heartbeat, he thought with distant surprise.

There was a movement in the darkness of the doorway,
and Héloïse was there, and suddenly everything came
sharply back into focus, sight and sound, colour and detail.
She was wearing a plain brown cambric dress, and a big blue
apron like the manservant's; her long dark curls were caught
back carelessly with a piece of blue ribbon, and a loose
strand of hair had fallen across her brow. There was a
smudge of dirt high up on her cheek, and she was holding a
polishing-rag in her hand.

He loved her so much in that moment that it was like an intense physical pain in his chest and throat, preventing
speech or movement. She looked to him more beautiful than
he had ever seen her. Her eyes widened as she saw him, and
the hand with the rag came forward involuntarily, found
itself occupied, and dropped again to her side.

‘James,' she said. 'But what are you doing here?’

He opened the gate and stepped through, and then
paused, suddenly unsure of his welcome: she looked apprehensive, almost frightened.

‘
As you see,' he said, gesturing behind him. He heard
one of the ponies sneeze, and the characteristic jingling of
bit-rings as a muzzle was rubbed against a knee. 'I've
brought you back your phaeton.' She said nothing, waiting as though his answer had been incomplete. 'I wanted to see your house,' he added. 'Everyone has seen it except me.’

Then she laughed. 'How absurd you are,' she said gladly, as though his absurdity had released her. 'And surely you
must know I have no stable here. Where can I possibly keep
it?'

‘
Oh, miss — m'lady — I know!' cried the female servant,
who was hovering behind Héloïse in the passage, trying to see over her shoulder. 'You could keep them at me father's farm, miss. There's a good, big barn where t' carriage could
go, and there's plenty of room in t' stables for them two
'osses, miss — m'lady — along'th the plough 'osses.’

Héloïse looked a little doubtful. 'Do you think so, Peg?'

‘
Certain sure, m'lady. Me father'd be right glad to 'elp,
you givin' me such a good place an' all.’

Durban intervened smoothly. 'If the place is near to
hand, my lady, perhaps I could take the rig there now and enquire.'

‘It is further on along this road, in the direction you are facing — Charlock's farm,' Héloïse said, still undecided.
Then she met James's eye for a moment, and seemed to
come to a conclusion. 'Peg, why don't you go along with Mr
Durban, and chew him the way, and then you can settle, it with your father for me. Stephen, you can go too, and help with the horses.'

‘Very good, m'lady. Coom on, Stephen, take off your apron,' Peg said excitedly. She dashed past her mistress, dropped a hurried curtsey in James's direction, and was out in the lane in a moment, making a fuss of the Arabs, and asking Durban their names. The manservant followed her, and a few moments later James and Héloïse were alone.

‘I think they will be gone a long time,' Héloïse said. 'Peg will want to tell her mother that I have a visitor, and Peg's
mother, a good woman, will give them all cakes and ale; and
I much mistake my Durban,' she added, with laughter in her
eyes, ‘if he hurries about putting the horses away. Oh,
James, dear James, are you really here? I can't believe it!'

‘
You aren't angry with me, then, for coming? I thought
you were, just at first. I thought you were going to send me away.'

‘No, I was not angry, only worried. You should not have
come — oh, but I am glad to see you! I should send you away
at once, but I am weak, I must have you to myself for a little
while, to see you and talk to you, my James. How long do you stay? A few hours, at least, I hope, so I can chew you
my house. Do you like it? Is it not the prettiest house in the world?'

‘
It is very pretty,' he replied, his eyes on her face.
‘You are not looking!’

He laughed. 'Very well, I shall look at everything, and admire it all exceedingly. But what were you doing when I
arrived? Why do I find you dressed in this absurd apron,
which is twice too big for you?'

‘
The painters only finished in my study yesterday, so Peg
and I were arranging the furniture. Oh, do come and look!' And she seized his hand like an excited child and drew him into the house. In the passage he stopped and caught her back, and turned her hands over, examining them.

‘
This will not do,' he_ said sternly. 'See here — and here!
You have blisters, Marmoset, and positively callouses! This is not a lady's hand, my child.'

‘Perhaps I am not a lady,' she said mischievously.

‘
I fear that may he only too true,' he said with a mock
sigh. 'At all events, you evidently haven't enough servants. Are they the only two?'

‘
Those two, and Marie of course. And that is quite
enough, James, for you know I am not a grand lady now.
We manage very well. Peg works very hard and she learns 1 "7 Aquickly, and so does Stephen. He is a sort of cousin of hers, but then, everyone in Coxwold seems to be related to the Charlocks. Even the gardener is Peg's great-uncle, and the woman who comes in to do the heavy work is her sister-in-law.'

‘And you sit all day with your hands in your lap?'

‘
When we are quite settled in, I shall,' Héloïse smiled. ‘Or at least, I shall sit at my desk and do my writing, and
have nothing harder to do than pick flowers and help Marie with the cooking.'

‘Ah, yes, the faithful Marie! Where is she?' James asked.

‘She has her day off. She has gone in the carrier's cart to the market at Thirsk: since we do not have to count every penny, she has grown quite passionate about markets. But I
think she must be growing rather fond of the carrier, too,
James, because every time she has a day off she goes some
where on his cart.'

‘And when does she return?'

‘
She usually stays all day on market day. I expect she will
take her dinner there, so if you will stay for dinner, I shall
cook for you. Shall you like that?'

‘
I shall like it exceedingly,' James said gravely. Héloïse
met his eyes for a moment, and gave him a nervous smile;
and then pulled him to the door of her study, and said,
‘There! Is it not a delightful room?’

It was very pretty indeed, James thought, with the long French windows open onto the sunny garden. The rug Peg had been about to beat was lying in a heap on the floor, and the furniture had been pushed back to take it up, and on the top of the
bonheur du jour
was a pot of beeswax polish to account for the rag in Héloïse's hand. Apart from the desk, there was a
chaise longue
covered in straw-coloured satin underneath the freshly painted white bookshelves, two oval-
backed Louis-Quinze chairs with tapestry panels to either
side of the fireplace, an exquisite little inlaid low-boy in one
of the chimney alcoves and, opposite the window, a massive
marble-topped, carved and gilded side table, with a huge gilt-framed mirror on the wall above it.

The bookshelves, however, were empty of books, and the
walls of pictures, and James commented on it.

‘
Oh, I shall begin to be a collector of books now,' she
said. 'There is a shop in Thirsk which sells them at secondhand; and as to pictures — '