White Water (7 page)

At the far end of the room Maria worked at the loom, deftly sliding the shuttle backwards and forwards, soothed by the monotony of the movements. She glanced up at the windows. It was already growing dark and she saw that Hugo had turned the letter towards the firelight to read it more comfortably.

‘Fetch a taper,’ she told Lorna. ‘You shall light the candles for us … and ask Minnie for an extra candle for me. I shall work on for a while longer.’

The little girl hurried out and Maria looked across at her son.

‘What are you writing so diligently?’ she asked him. ‘I wish Master Parry could see you. He’d be most impressed with your perseverance.’

Piers looked up. ‘I must write one full page in my best hand to present to him in the morning.’

Hugo glanced at him curiously. ‘And what is your subject?’ he asked. ‘Won’t you read it aloud?’

Piers hesitated, then dutifully began to read:

‘The fox. A treatise … ’ he began.

‘A treatise on the fox?’ Hugo repeated, astonished. ‘Who teaches you such matters?’

‘Nat teaches me. He knows about all animals. He knows about foxes, badgers and martens. He hunts squirrel and rabbit and … ’

Hugo laughed. ‘Go on with your treatise. I am convinced.’

Piers began again: ‘The fox. A treatise. The young fox is called a cub but after one year, ’tis called a fox and later an old fox. Two foxes make a brace and the tail is called a brush or drag. When the fox mates ’tis rightly called clicketting and the she-fox is with cub when she carries her young. The fox is hunted with hounds and in cold weather leaves the strongest scent — ’

Hugo said, ‘Nathanial has taught you well. I trust he will not teach you to poach also.’ Piers kept his eyes on his writing and made no answer.

‘And is there more?’

Piers nodded.

‘Then let us hear it and then away to the kitchen for your supper. Ah, here is Lorna with the taper.’

The boy continued. ‘The fox is hunted with the horn also and will oft go to earth. Then must he be dug out with a broad spade. Or else he will be caught above ground and the hounds will kill him and his body be raised up on a pike staff.’

He reached the end and looked up at Hugo for his appraisal.

‘Well done,’ said his father. ‘You will make a fine huntsman — one day. Next year you shall go with me after an otter or a stag.’ He took the taper and lit the candle which Lorna then carried and set beside Maria. Hugo lit the two candles that stood at each end of the table and also the torches ensconced on the wall. ‘And now, away with you,’ he told the two children. ‘Your mother and I have much to discuss. Remember your prayers and sleep well.’

When they had gone, he re-read the letter which was from Melissa’s sister. For a while he was silent, considering its contents. Then he glanced at Maria.

‘Leave your weaving,’ he urged. ‘Let it wait until the morning. You will tire your eyes.’

Maria obeyed willingly and, blowing out the candle, crossed the room and settled herself beside him. He put an arm round her shoulders and she nestled closer, enjoying his closeness. ‘This girl that Abigail so warmly recommends for Allan,’ began Hugo. ‘What do you think on the matter? This Eloise Ballantyne. She comes from a good family and Abigail says she is well versed in music and dancing as well as household management.’ He glanced again at the letter. ‘She says she is in sound health and of comely appearance with a pleasant voice and manners. Do you think Allan will consider her?’

Maria hesitated. ‘I cannot say. I confess it would please me but mayhap ’tis too soon. He has scarcely recovered from Harriet’s death and his mood is so sombre.’

Hugo nodded. ‘The more reason for a new interest,’ he suggested. ‘He is young and he needs a woman in his life. He is he eldest son and needs an heir. This Eloise sounds very suitable — comely, a sweet voice, pleasant manner … ’ Maria smiled. ‘Quite a paragon in fact! I think you are half in love with her yourself.’

‘I think not,’ he laughed, tightening his arm around her. ‘She is very young, not yet fifteen, and I am an old man.’

‘Old? You will never be old! Forty-one is no age at all.’

‘Nevertheless I shall not succumb to her young charms. I have all I want in my Maria. But shall we go to Rochester and see the girl? It can do no harm. Mayhap we could visit Abigail and meet her and speak of it to Allan on our return.’

‘And if Allan won’t consider it?’

Hugo shrugged. ‘We cannot force him to wed but I am hopeful. Allan has known the joys of the marriage bed. He surely will not choose to stay celibate for ever. If he will not wed this year, then it must be next year. Why delay? ’Twill serve no purpose.’

‘But will
he
think that way? Oh, poor Harriet! Why did she have to die? They were so happy. If only I could have saved her.’

‘No one could save her. You did everything possible. You must not reproach yourself.’

‘Poor Allan. Mayhap a new bride
will
restore his spirits. I confess I grow anxious. He has changed so these last few months.’

‘He has lost his wife!
I
would change if I lost you. I would be melancholy.’

‘But would you choose only your own company for days at a time? Would your temper grow short and would you shout where once you spoke calmly? I am fearful. Do you believe ’tis just the melancholy?’

He turned and looked at her troubled face and kissed her gently. ‘I do,’ he said lightly. ‘We men are strange creatures. Allan is mourning Harriet, ’tis no more than that. We will send word to Abigail to thank her for her letter and to advise her of our visit. If we like what we see we can broach the matter with Allan. We shall ride to Rochester at the beginning of April, when hopefully the highways will at least be passable … Eloise — ‘tis a charming name. Let us hope she is as charming as her name. By this time next year you may well have a new daughter-in-law.’

Abigail had done Eloise an injustice. She was not comely. She was beautiful. Her thick chestnut hair fell almost to her waist and, by contrast, made her fair skin appear paler than it was. There was no blemish on her face — not a scar, not a pockmark. Not even a freckle spoiled the translucent quality of her skin. Her blue eyes were large and flecked with dark green and her nose was small and straight. Even her teeth were white, and free of decay. Only Abigail, trying hard to be dispassionate, would have described her as merely comely. Eloise was the second daughter of James and Stella Ballantyne. They had six children. The first two, both girls, were James’ children by his first wife. The four younger ones, all boys, were Stella’s.

Although Abigail and Stella met rarely, the husbands were on friendly terms and their business interests overlapped. Adam Jarman, Abigail’s husband, now owned the flourishing boatyard which had been in his family for seven generations. James Ballantyne owned a ship’s chandlers from which he made a more than comfortable profit. He had settled his older daughter Bridget with a generous dowry and a middle-aged husband. He did not like his elder daughter and was thankful to be rid of her. Now he could devote himself to finding a suitable, and acceptable, husband for his beloved Eloise. Of all his children Eloise was the only one towards whom he felt the true affection a father should feel for his child. She was his pride and joy from the first moment she opened her eyes and nothing was too good for his beautiful Eloise. All her life she was petted and favoured and her transgressions, small or large, were either readily overlooked or else they were acknowledged and promptly forgiven. The other children grew jealous. Even her mother protested at such blatant favouritism — but to no avail. Eloise could do no wrong in her father’s eyes and she grew up accepting male adoration as her due. Her body developed early and by the time she was fourteen her good looks were complemented by fashionably small but perfect breasts, a neat waist and long slim legs. She was precocious, wilful and indulged, but promised, within a very few years, to be a great beauty.

Steven Kennet, who worked for her father, knew it. Now he looked into the blue-green eyes and his own were narrowed with shock.

‘Betrothed?’ he cried, almost stuttering in his dismay as his emotions churned desperately. ‘’Tis news to me. You spoke nothing of a betrothal. What of me, and my love? Am I nothing to you? Tell me ’tis a lie Eloise.’

She stared at him coolly, enjoying his dismay. So he
did
love her. He had never said so before and she had tried often enough to wring the admission from him. Almost as often as he had tried to persuade her to submit to his passion. Neither had been successful. Eloise remained a virgin and Steven remained unsatisfied. And now it seemed time was running out for him. His face darkened and he leaned forward, his face close to hers as she leaned back against the open door. Through the doorway the slanting rays of the afternoon sun pierced the gloom of the lean-to store behind the shop, picking out coils of rope, barrels of tar, chests and trunks full of locks, hinges, handles and an assortment of buckets, baskets and brooms.

The shop itself fronted the road and, by rights, Steven should have been there, for trade was flourishing and Friday was always a busy day. But James Ballantyne had sent him out to the store to fetch a rope sample and there he had found Eloise waiting for him, with the news that had so shattered his composure.

‘’Tis no lie, Steven,’ she told him calmly, ‘nor jest, either. His parents are on their way at this very moment, come all the way from Devonshire.’

‘But you’ve no need to take him!’

‘Mayhap I’ll want to. Think on that, Steven Kennet.’

‘But — but you said you love
me
. You promised yourself to
me
. Spoke it with your hand on your heart! You can’t deny it.’

‘I don’t deny it,’ she said with a slight toss of her head, ‘but I cannot disobey my parents and he is rich, this Allan Kendal. And a grown man of twenty-one.’

‘And you fourteen and only half grown!’

She lowered her eyelids so that he should not see her expression. Half-grown, indeed. Who did he think he was to speak thus to her? He was no more than a hired man with no prospects — and he had never said he loved her. Now he would regret his reluctance. She turned her head away, and looked out towards the tangle of masts and rigging that was the river Medway. The waterfront hummed with activity and occasional shouts and snatches of song came to their ears above the interminable flap of sails.

From the shop James Ballantyne roared: ‘Steven! What’s keeping you, lad?’ and panic showed in the boy’s eyes. He was sixteen and lusty and no longer a virgin. He had taken two girls to date, one willing and one not so willing. This one was proving more difficult than he had expected, but he had felt fairly confident of the ultimate outcome. Now time was of the essence. She was about to be snatched away untried. He cursed his luck inwardly while his mind raced. How could he pluck this ripe peach before she was handed to another? He had waited patiently for her surrender but now it seemed he would have to change his tactics.

‘I’m coming!’ he shouted in answer to his master, then seized Eloise roughly by the shoulders, forcing her to turn and face him. ‘And I’ll be back again so you wait for me, d’you hear? I’ll think of an excuse and I’ll be back. Answer me, Eloise. I’m telling you to wait for me. D’you hear me?’

‘I do, Steven Kennet, and I’ll thank you to keep your hands to yourself. You don’t know your own strength and you’re hurting my shoulders.’

She tried to wriggle free but he leaned his full weight against her, pinning her to the door. Her body sprang into an unwilling awareness of his and she saw the desire smouldering in his eyes.

‘You’d find how strong I am if you’d so much as nod your head,’ he boasted. ‘I’ll, wager I can show you more tricks than your so-called betrothed.’

‘Then you’d lose your money,’ said Eloise triumphantly, ‘for he’s been wed already and you haven’t. His wife’s dead.’

‘Dead? What of?’

‘I don’t know.’ She wriggled again as his lips moved against her own. ‘Get off me, I say. You’ll get nothing out of me, Steven Kennet, until you say the words — and maybe not then!’

Steven relinquished her mouth and let his right hand rest against her thigh. Slowly it travelled upwards until it cupped her breast and he saw her eyelids flicker with delight. If words were all that held her back she should have them.

‘What words is that?’ He stalled for time as his fingers slid under the lace and down over her cool, softly rounded flesh to feel for the small nipple that stood up eagerly against his fingertips. Her father roared again and Steven, cursing, withdrew his hand. He leaned forward suddenly and flicked her parted lips with his tongue.

‘Be here when I get back!’ he warned, but as he turned to go she snatched at his sleeve.

‘You know the words,’ she said. ‘If I don’t hear them I shan’t wait.’

He looked at her beautiful face which glowed with a combination of mischief and desire. He felt his body stiffen and saw her eyes go down to it in triumph.

‘Say it, Steven,’ she begged him, her eyes imploring through the half-lowered lashes.

He took a deep breath. ‘I love you, Eloise. I want you and by Christ I’ll have you as soon as I get back. I swear you’ll not go to your betrothed a virgin — nor will you regret it.’