The meal was a triumph of delectable fare. Bess was a very good housewife; her kitchens were—as was the rest of the manor—spotlessly clean, her staff industrious and happy, too. In season she delighted in bottling and preserving all the fruits of her flourishing estate. Her gentle but firm hand extended to all parts of her little kingdom and both human and animal creatures who called Maiden Court their home received her compassionate care. No animal was ill treated, no man or woman or child need fear a bitter winter, a failed harvest, an illness or disability.
Tonight the laden table, the gleaming surroundings, gave evidence of her talented husbandry. And all in an atmosphere of willing service, Rachel thought as she came down the stairs, having changed from her riding clothes. On returning to her chamber she had found her only presentable gown laid over her bed, newly sponged and pressed. A cheerful maid had tapped on the door asking if she might “wash and dress my lady’s hair”. The bed linen had been changed, the bowls of fragrant dried flowers renewed.
Descending to the kitchen and offering to help in some way, the fat and jolly cook had asked her if she might like to transfer some of the redcurrant jelly and mint sauce into little bowls for the table.
“My lady does like them with the mutton. And you’ll find the little pots of horseradish that my lady sets up for the beef.”
Exploring the larder, Rachel was transfixed by the rows and rows of jewel-bright sealed glass containers, all with their labels written in Bess Latimar’s careful hand: Quince Jelly, this year of Our Lord 1582; Damson Jam, this year of Our Lord 1583. Rachel turned out the enviably clear jelly and the pungent horseradish into little dishes and took her place at the table where the others were already assembled.
Two great sirloins of beef dominated the table, flanked by two pink hams, baked in honey glaze and spiked with costly cloves. There was fresh white bread to soak up the juices from the beef, a dish of new carrots and another of tiny green peas. There was river fish, baked in their skins, then denuded of them and replaced with slivers of almonds, then returned to the hot oven to brown. After the savouries came the sweetmeats; marchpane and gingerbread and little coffers of pastry filled with sugared currants and topped with yellow cream. Finally came sweet and spicy dried apple rings and walnuts.
The Latimars en masse were merry company and took a lively interest in the two strangers in their midst. Katherine was an immediate favourite, so beautiful and vivacious, and Rachel was perceived to have a charm all her own, particularly when she had relaxed enough to chat shyly to her neighbours. As these neighbours were children she might have earned Bess’s approval, but Bess found herself unable to look at Rachel without seeing another woman entirely.
Hal’s eyes, too, were frequently on Rachel, with irritation rather than approval. Aggravating woman! he thought, she had quite unsettled him earlier, when he especially wanted to feel confident and able to project that confidence to Katherine Monterey. Why had he spoken so personally in the parlour earlier? Why had he spoken of that closely caged demon to her—the fear that came to him on dark nights that he was somehow masquerading as the model of a successful courtier, successful man, that all he really was was the lucky inheritor of generations of favour? He hated to acknowledge this fear, and it was humiliating to have voiced it to another. He also regretted his unkind comment on her personal demeanour, for he also disliked feeling guilty of unkindness.
After the last morsel had been enjoyed they all left the table to play various games suitable to the young guests. Then came the present-giving and Bess and Harry accepted the gifts from the children, gravely appreciating the effort and thought as much as the content. Lastly there was a spirited display of dancing.
Rachel, watching the proceedings from a wide settle by the hearth, said to Hal, who had most reluctantly had to give Katherine up to Piers and so moved out of the line of dancers, “They are all so happy, are they not?”
“Mmm.” Hal looked moodily across at Katherine. She and Piers grew more friendly with each passing moment…An ignominious thought crossed his mind: perhaps if Katherine knew how very impoverished Piers was, she would—Hal was instantly ashamed of this thought. Firstly because it assumed that Katherine cared for such distinction, and secondly because it was a disloyalty to his best friend, for there had never been any division between them regarding estate—at least on his part. Rachel glanced at him.
“You’re not enjoying yourself. Why? Because of Katherine’s performance? It means little, you know, and jealousy only makes you miserable. It’s a very unproductive emotion.” As she said this a premonitionary shiver ran down her spine. She had never been jealous of Katherine for what she had materially—and “jealous’ was the wrong word for the pangs she had always felt that her cousin had her definite place in the world. So why the cold feeling in this warm room now?
Hal sat down and leaned back, saying in answer to her words, “Well, you should know.”
The half-acknowledged thought flashed away and anger took its place. “If you are saying I am jealous of Katherine, then ’tis not true!” she said angrily. “You think that because she has…everything and I nothing. As if I cared for a few baubles and furs. Truly you and she make a good pair!”
Since this was his ambition for the future, it was hard for him to decide why this last statement seemed such an insult. “I don’t understand,” he said abruptly, “why you are always so angry with me. Have I earned such enmity?”
She blinked. He had the habit of making these surprisingly direct remarks, which sat so ill with his usually casually polished conversation. She was startled into forgetting that he had offended her twice with his comments on her character and admitting, “No. It is just that, when I am with you, I feel as if I want to fight with you.”
“Because you think I betrayed your confidence to my mother?” He gave her the straight, blue Latimar look.
“No…for if you tell me you did not, then I believe you.”
A slow smile spread across his fair face. “I am glad of that, for I am a good person to share secrets with. And, actually, I do not have your secret over this, for you told me only meagre details.”
She sighed. “I should not have said even what I did. And how your mother knew…I cannot see how.”
“Why don’t you tell me all about it, Rachel?” Hal folded his arms and looked attentive. Most of his interest was for his parents’ part in the story, certainly, for their past was part of the history of the world he occupied. But some was reserved for Rachel, so nervously engaging. He could not help noticing that the colour coming and going in her face, the light changing in her expressive eyes, improved her looks, already arresting. Also, whatever Rachel Monterey was, she was extraordinarily easy to talk to.
Rachel took a breath, conscious that her cursed tendency to blush was upon her now. She looked down at her clasped hands, then up into Hal’s face. “It was this way…” she began, stopped and began again. “My grandmother, Madrilene, came to the English court when she was but seventeen—the age I am now…She was half-Spanish, half-French and a ward of the old King, Henry. Almost at once she fell in love with your father, who was a good friend of the King. She was—even when I knew her in her old age—a passionate impulsive creature, and must have been more so at that age…Anyway, she saw your father and wanted him, pursued him, I suppose…but he was married to your mother and would not be led astray.” Rachel paused again. This story, told in the house of two of the characters in her tale, was difficult to tell without her grandmother being seen as the villain.
Hal signalled for more wine to be dispensed for himself and Rachel. When it was, he leaned more comfortably against the broad cushions. “Yes? And then what happened?” Rachel was embarrassed, but he was not. He was a sophisticated courtier of the most glamorous court in the world. He had heard it all before—apart from it being more personal on this occasion.
“What happened then,” Rachel said bleakly, “was that my grandmother lost the battle between herself and your father and was dispatched forthwith back to France and from there to Spain, where she found some sort of solace with my grandfather, and her daughter—my mother. That is