A Most Unseemly Summer

by Juliet Landon

  ‘Lady…’ he sounded hurt, ‘…you malign me. Of course not. You’re already aware of my plans to move out of the guesthouse. You knew that before you moved in here. Now I cannot begin any rebuilding over there until it’s cleared, and the New House must be kept clear for your preparations, which leaves this place as the only shelter for me and my men. I came to tell you that my men will be here with my furnishings at dawn ready to bring them in. I hope it doesn’t rain. There’ll be room enough in here for me and my equipment, and our limner friend will not be staying long, whatever he chooses to believe. Plenty of room upstairs.’ He looked around him as if to decide where to place his belongings, measuring the bed with deliberate interest.

  ‘No!’ said Felice, in a choked voice.

  He looked at her in mild surprise, without comment.

  ‘No,’ she said again. ‘This is preposterous, Sir Leon, and you know it.’ She sat heavily upon a low stool with her skirt billowing around her, outwardly calm but trembling with fear beneath the embroidered bodice. Thankfully, no one could collapse inside a whalebone corset. ‘You cannot do this. You agreed.’

  ‘Ah…agreements. Easy to forget, eh?’

  ‘Not so easy, sir, since it was made at our first meeting.’

  ‘The day before yesterday. And you remember that because it was in your favour, no doubt; yet the one we made later in the day seems to have escaped your memory presumably because you didn’t like the sound of it. Understandable, but bad practice. Perhaps we should have put it into writing.’ He leaned back on to the window-panes and folded his arms across his wide chest, his eyes never once leaving her face.

  Agreement? Felice struggled to understand what he meant, then her blood slowed in her veins and she felt a prickling along the nape of her neck as she remembered her vehement denial only that afternoon to the over-sympathetic Marcus. It came back to her, detail by detail, as if in a dream, knowing that it had erupted in a moment of fury.

  ‘I shall tell him of our understanding,’ he had said.

  ‘And I shall deny it.’

  ‘Deny it at your peril.’

  And she had denied it. ‘No, Sir Leon, I did not forget. I denied it as I told you I would because I cannot accept it. You must have known that.’

  ‘Cannot, or will not?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘Then the only way for me to enforce it, my lady, is to show that it exists. Two unrelated people of the opposite sex living closely under one roof are expected to have an understanding of some sort, are they not? And by the time I’ve spent a night or two in this room, that understanding will be more or less impossible to shake off, however hard you deny it. It should give the village women something to talk about.’

  She thought of Marcus’s horses, soon to be in her stable.

  ‘No,’ he said, reading her thoughts. ‘You’ll not get far.’

  Fuming, and reeling from the cleverness of his scheme, she glared at his darkening silhouette as if he were the devil himself. ‘I hate you,’ she whispered. ‘I hate you!’

  For an answer, he swung his gaze slowly from her face to the wide curtained bed and back again. ‘Easily remedied,’ he whispered back.

  ‘What is it you want from me, sir? Be truthful for once, if you please.’

  ‘I think you know, lady. First, I’ll have an acknowledgement of our relationship, a public one, and then I’ll have the obedience that goes with it. And then I’ll consider delaying my move into these rooms for the time being. That’s not too much to demand, I think.’

  ‘You may not think so, but I cannot for the life of me understand why, when you hold my honour in such contempt, you wish to publicise a relationship which must be as abhorrent to you as it is to me. Surely you could allow me to get on with my appointed task without wrapping it up in this ridiculous garb? My stepfather failed in his duty to my mother when he sent me here unannounced, but I cannot believe he’d have wanted my freedom curtailed so severely, my means of transport taken away, my every move watched and criticised, my servants ordered, my person manhandled by an unscrupulous stranger. It’s intolerable!’ She stood and turned aside, her voice trembling with fatigue and anger. ‘Now you want everyone to believe you’re…I’m…we’re…’

  ‘Lovers?’ he said from across the room. ‘No, but that’s not quite as abhorrent as you seem to think it is, nor is the impression I’ve gained from our brief encounters, whatever you intended.’

  ‘Don’t shame me any further, sir, I beg you. Say no more on that.’

  ‘Why? Because you can’t explain it? Because it brings back memories still raw, does it?’

  ‘Stop!’ she yelled. ‘Stop it!’ Tears welled into her eyes as a sea of confusion surged into her breast. ‘You’d be the last person to understand.’

  ‘Wrong. I might even understand before you do. However, one thing at a time. When word gets round that you’re down here, as it will, there’ll be few who believe Deventer had nothing in mind but a straightforward working relationship, even if he did.’

  ‘Ah, I see! You have a reputation to uphold. Yes, I can see how that would matter to you,’ she said, scornfully through her angry tears. ‘Well, don’t keep it bright at my expense, sir. I can forge my own relationships without my stepfather’s help. Or yours.’

  ‘Steady, lass. You’re running ahead of yourself again. We’re talking about a guardianship, remember, at the moment.’

  ‘Do guardians make love to their wards then, these days?’

  ‘It certainly wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened. But it will stop tongues clacking for a while, that’s the main advantage.’

  ‘This…this guardianship, Sir Leon. It would not involve further…intimacies? Do I have your assurance on that?’

  He came slowly to his feet and approached her like a cat until he was close enough to read her face in the gloom. ‘I do not think, my lady, that you are in a position to bargain, are you? Shall we get the first stage over with first, then we’ll see about the rest?’

  ‘Blackmail, Sir Leon. How many stages are there? Where do they lead? And what do I get out of it, exactly? I don’t relish the idea of acquiring a colourful reputation like the men and women at court. Mine was white when I came down here to Wheatley and I’d like it to be the same kind of white when this fiasco comes to an end.’

  ‘White, was it, lady?’ he whispered. ‘You’re sure of that, are you?’

  She swung her head away, mortified by his inference. ‘I was speaking of my reputation, sir, nothing else. I do not want my name linked with yours merely for your convenience. Indeed, I don’t want it linked with yours for any reason.’

  ‘Then that must be one of the disadvantages of being a woman,’ he said, pitilessly. ‘Now, do we continue this discussion in front of Donne, or have we reached some kind of conclusion?’

  ‘Guardianship, is it? Is that a notch up from custodian, or a notch down? Do remind me,’ she said, scathingly.

  ‘That’s what Deventer would have had in mind, I believe. It will do to begin with.’

  ‘Hypocrite!’ she spat. ‘As if you care a damn what Lord Deventer has in mind.’

  ‘That’s the wildcat. Now we begin to understand one another. You’ll tell Donne this evening what the situation is, without the drama, if you please. Say your anger made you forget; anything you like, but make it clear. Now, come here.’

  She remained rooted to the spot, glaring at the darkening windows.

  ‘Come here, Felice.’

  Trembling inside, she went to him, dreading what was to come and fearful that her inevitable response would mock at all she had been asserting. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘Please don’t.’

  His hand reached out and slipped round to the back of her neck, drawing her lips towards his. ‘So it’s not me you want, then? Someone still nagging you, is he? Then change your mind, lady, before I change it for you.’ He released her with only the tenderest brush of his lips across hers like the touch of a moth’s wing, leaving her to wonder not
only what he meant by that but whether his strange demand would really be as uncomfortable as she was making it out to be.

  Chapter Five

  The discovery that Marcus Donne had not, after all, revealed the details of their afternoon’s conversation to Sir Leon came as something of a relief to Felice, who had hoped for Marcus’s confidence, at least. Nevertheless, she was extremely angry that her outburst that afternoon had somehow landed her deeper than ever into Sir Leon’s power.

  ‘Then how did he know?’ she said, keeping her voice low so as not to be overheard along the busy pathway to the village. Torch-boys carried flaming brands before them, sending plumes of smoke over their heads and dancing shadows across the moving figures. ‘If you didn’t tell him what I’d said, how on earth could he have known?’

  ‘Dear lady,’ Marcus said, clamping her hand between his sleeve and doublet, ‘if I spilled private conversations so easily I’d never be employed again, believe me. I am nothing if not discreet. I can only assume that when I’d told him how upset you were, his intuition told him that you may also have said something rash. Anyway, there’s no harm done, is there? He scolded you yet again and made you promise to put the matter straight, which you have done, so nothing’s changed, has it? He’d already told me that he was responsible for you as soon as I arrived. Yours was a natural reaction, my lady; think no more about it,’ he said, not believing for one moment that she would take his advice any more than he himself would. This would not be a difficult conquest, with the lady already halfway there.

  What nonsense, Felice thought. Everything’s changed. If details of this guardianship are not all over Wheatley by now, they will be by the end of this night, for although Sir Leon’s threat had been based on speculation, she would now have to accept his authority in everything or suffer the consequences. Lord Deventer’s direct intervention in this matter was not something she could count on. Most disturbing of all was Sir Leon’s refusal to promise no further intimacies and his cryptic message about changing her mind. It didn’t need changing. She did want him, but not while her loyalty still belonged elsewhere and not while Sir Leon’s only intention was to gain her obedience and to win her stepfather’s approval. For her, it was a heartbreaking situation to be in; for him it would no doubt continue to be highly entertaining.

  Until that evening, Felice had not realised how many people were employed at the abbey as builders, craftsmen, labourers and servants, kitchen and stablemen. Behind and before her they streamed into the village over the little bridge, past the thatched cottages and towards the village green where a mountain of wood, mostly from the building-site, was ready to be lit. May Eve was the beginning of summer and the start of festivities that not even the church was able to prevent.

  It was only when she joined the group that included the Reverend John Aycombe and Dame Celia, Thomas and Audrey Vyttery and the complete Paynefleete family that Felice realised she and Marcus had been closely followed by Sir Leon Gascelin. She prayed he’d not overheard them.

  On all sides of the wide green, cottages huddled together in the darkness; against the paler western sky rose the stone bulk of Wheatley Manor, where Dame Celia’s brother and his family lived. These were the Paynefleetes, whose generations of wealth and nobility gave them extraordinary advantages in every sphere, property in several southern counties and, not least, the distinction of lighting the May Eve fires.

  It was a crowded and merry occasion with laughter and shrieks of excitement as the flames licked and roared, sending sparks into the black sky and lighting rosy faces. Last year’s chestnuts were thrown into the red-hot ashes to roast; there were gingerbreads to eat and dripping slices of roasted ox from the manor kitchens, hunks of new bread, honey-coated apples on sticks and barrels of perry, cider and ale.

  Lydia stood with the protective Adam, who successfully warded off attempts to draw her into the chain-dance until she herself pulled him along. Elizabeth followed on with Mr Dawson of the kitchen and a clutch of other hopefuls, and Felice silently prayed that the lass would not take too much of the potent cider to which Marcus had taken a liking.

  She had managed to evade any direct contact with Sir Leon, but he seemed never to be far away until the rowdiness intensified and even the vicar appeared to approve of the horseplay. Then, when her eyes searched for him for reassurance, he and the Vytterys had gone, and Marcus’s impatient hand around her waist was anything but protective.

  ‘C’mon,’ he insisted. ‘It’s the dain-chance. Everybody’s got to do the dain-chance on May-hic! Hey there! Wait for us! C’mon, Feleesh. Put your cider down.’

  Hastily, Felice relinquished her drink to Dame Celia, who laughed her approval of Marcus’s enthusiasm while the two were drawn into a thirty-strong chain of bodies and dragged along a sinuously snaking path around the fire, through groups of people, along the dark track and round to the fire again. Old and young, lively and infirm, all those in the chain-dance wreathed about, broke and reformed, gathered newcomers and whopped untuneful snatches of song to the sound of pipes and drums. The din was deafening.

  In the dark, the chain of hands broke with a sudden tug, and Marcus fell heavily backwards, cannoning into Felice and knocking her into the man behind whose sweaty hand caught at her shoulder as she fell, pulling at her sleeve. Instantly, the pile-up of bodies collapsed into helpless cider-inflamed laughter, tangling arms and legs and, for the most part, rendering them unwilling and unable to recover. Two men were lying on her skirts, preventing her escape, while another was taking the opportunity to kiss her neck with wet and smelly lips and an unconcern for her identity that caused her to lash out in all directions. Which body was Marcus she had no idea, for the darkness was intense.

  She yelled, screaming to be free of groping hands, and then there were grunts and yelps and spaces beyond her, a pair of arms encircling her, pulling her upwards. ‘No…no!’ she yelled. ‘Get off! Get away!’

  ‘Hush, lass. It’s me. Come this way…come on. I’ve got you.’

  She stepped on bodies and over them, supported by strong hands and an arm about her waist, unable to see but recognising the voice. His voice. ‘My shoe!’ she called out. ‘I’ve lost a shoe!’

  ‘No matter. Leave it. Are you hurt?’

  ‘Er…no, I don’t think so. Oh, no!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘My hair. My net has come undone and my sleeve’s ripped off.’

  They stood apart from the screeching mêlée but close to each other, Felice taking an unexpected comfort from the rock-firm stability of Sir Leon’s embrace, and making no protest as he redeemed the silver mesh from the tangle of her hair and shook the rest of it out over her shoulders.

  ‘There. Now take your other shoe off. You’ll walk more easily. D’ye want me to carry you?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘Thank you, I can manage now.’ She pushed herself away, but he enveloped her in his long cloak and kept an arm about her waist, holding her firmly to his side.

  ‘Come,’ he said, walking her towards the pink glow in the distance. ‘There must be some advantages in having a guardian. Hold on to me.’

  Obediently, she slipped her shoulder beneath his and walked barefoot over the cool grass towards the fire, thankful that the occasion itself provided an excuse for such familiarities. Half-expecting him to release her from his protection, she halted at the edge of the crowd and dropped her arm from his waist. ‘I think…er…I should find Lydia,’ she said.

  ‘Adam’s with her. She’ll be safe with him.’

  ‘Yes, but…’

  ‘And Mistress Pemberton is over there, see. And you’re staying with me.’ As if to reinforce his words, he drew her on through the crowds towards those she had left, greeting them with laughs and accepting a juicy slice of beef with which he fed her.

  She stood with her back to his chest, enclosed with him in the same woollen cloak and with one of his arms across her like a barrier. As her hair found its way into her mouth, he swept it aside with hi
s thumb.

  ‘What happened?’ said Dame Celia. ‘Trampled underfoot?’

  With her mouth full, Felice nodded, blissfully unconcerned by the unkempt sight she now presented. The fire was warm on her face and feet and the cider had begun to release the cares of the day, taking them away beyond recall, and as she turned her face upwards to watch a shower of sparks, she felt his chin on her forehead and knew an intense longing she had never experienced before with any other man.

  ‘What happened to Marcus?’ Dame Celia asked, merrily.

  Felice felt Sir Leon smile into her hair. ‘With Betty,’ he laughed.

  ‘Who’s Betty?’ she said.

  Dame Celia’s face was a picture of shocked amusement, her rolling eyes almost providing the answer. ‘The village…er…’

  Sir Leon’s arm tightened. ‘Betty is a very accommodating lady,’ he said. ‘Marcus will be all right with Betty until about noon tomorrow.’

  ‘Does she know him, then?’

  ‘She certainly will by noon tomorrow, my lady. Now, will you open your mouth for a piece of this sticky apple? You can ask Marcus himself for more details when he recovers.’

  The noise and dancing continued as they took their leave of their hosts and headed away from the fire’s glowing warmth, still clinging like lovers and calling goodnight to the groups and couples and shadowy forms. And despite the soreness of her feet, Felice was scarcely aware of the rough ground on that dark and silent walk back to the abbey. Almost silent.

  ‘My head feels funny,’ she whispered.

  ‘I should have warned you. It’s the cider. Take it slowly.’

  ‘There’s something I was supposed to be saying to you. Something angry.’

  ‘That goes without saying. It’ll keep till tomorrow. And I know what it is, anyway.’

  ‘How do you?’

  ‘I just do. Wait!’ he whispered. ‘Stop! What’s that?’ They had reached the part of the path that ran parallel to the river across the front of the New House. A new moon caught a patch of shining water where V-shaped ripples dragged along behind a shadow that made a soft plash-plash in the quiet air. An owl hooted, and the moving shadow answered it.