Circle of Pearls

by Rosalind Laker

  Julia uttered a shriek of alarm. Katherine, taking charge, gave her a thrust in the direction of the marriage chair. ‘Fetch that cushion for your mother’s head — she must have bumped it hard as she fell.’ When the cushion had been placed in position, Katherine gave the child another directive. ‘Run upstairs to the Long Gallery and tell Ridley to come down here and lift your mother on to the day-bed.’

  ‘Yes, Grandmother!’ Julia was already making for the door.

  ‘Wait! Before you come down again go along to my bedchamber and bring down the flask of lavender water from the table beside my bed.’

  ‘I’ll do that!’ Julia ran from the room in a flurry of ribbons.

  On her own Katherine lowered herself with difficulty down to the floor beside Anne, who lay with her arms tumbled and her knees slightly bent. Katherine’s age-mottled hands adjusted the cushion. She was fond of her daughter-in-law, who had never resented her widowed presence in the house, had nursed her tirelessly when she was sick, and had shown her more kindness than could ever be counted. Moreover, Anne had never given her a cross answer and Katherine was well aware of having a sharp tongue. Massaging her daughter-in-law’s wrists she shook her head, muttering to herself under her breath. ‘No backbone. The most amiable nature any woman could have, but no iron in the spine. My! If I had been as weak as this one in my early widowhood it would have been a dismal outlook for Robert and Sotherleigh. God grant that I survive until he comes home for good to cosset her again. Otherwise there’s no telling what might befall her.’ Then she added the concern that was never far from her mind in her son and grandson’s absence: ‘Or Sotherleigh either for that matter.’

  She looked up as Ridley came hurriedly into the room, Julia with him. He lifted Anne up without much difficulty, for she was light in weight, and placed her on the day-bed. He then turned to help Julia in getting Katherine off her knees.

  When Anne continued to remain deep in unconsciousness, Katherine became extremely worried and sent for some acrid-smelling herbs from the herb-garden. She wafted the sprigs to and fro under her daughter-in-law’s delicately shaped nostrils for some time before the closed lids began to flicker. Both she and Julia sighed with relief.

  ‘Have they gone?’ Anne’s grey eyes opened wide. She had forgotten momentarily that she had seen the Roundheads depart.

  Julia flung an embracing arm about her mother. ‘Yes, they have! Grandmother says they’ll not be back and soon Starlight and the other horses can come home from the sanctuary of the woods.’

  Katherine put the herbs aside. ‘We can be thankful that everything went as well as it did.’

  ‘Due in no small part to my little daughter’s brave and honest answers.’ Anne, still propped against cushions, smiled at Julia and raised a maternal hand to touch the child’s curls, ‘I will dress your hair if you will fetch a brush and comb.’

  ‘Not yet,’ Katherine stated firmly. ‘You must be still for a while.’ Then she patted Julia on the shoulder, ‘I think you should leave your mother now. Why not go up to your bedchamber and see if anything has been taken.’

  Julia kissed Anne and then ran from the room, suddenly fearful for her little doll’s house, a country mansion with four rooms and a hallway, which came next to her pony as her dearest possession. Christopher had made it for her during one of his sojourns at Sotherleigh and it was designed to be the home of a tiny wax doll in a blue taffeta gown.

  Reaching her bedchamber she burst into it and then halted with dismay. The mattress of her bed had been hauled up, throwing the bedclothes to the floor, shoes from her closet had been strewn about, and the contents of her drawers tipped out. Her trinket box had been upturned and the doll’s house, which always stood next to it, was nowhere to be seen.

  Then she saw that it had been swept to the floor from the top of the clothes press, together with her hairbrush and comb and other small things that had been lying there. She rushed to it and dropped to her knees, relieved it had not been taken, for it seemed impossible to her that others should not value it for its craftsmanship as she did. At the same time she was full of distress at the damage it had suffered. The chimneys had been knocked off, the glazing of two of the windows was smashed, and the whole frontage, which opened like a door to reveal the panelled rooms within, was hanging on its hinges.

  She held it gently as if its wounds could be felt and set it back on top of the clothes press. Not expecting to find the tiny inhabitant in one piece, she dived carefully into the tumbled furniture and picked out the four-poster. To her joy the little doll securely tucked into the bedclothes had escaped all harm.

  ‘At least you’re safe, Susan Wren.’ She had named the doll after Christopher’s older sister. The choice of the lady’s maiden name had been deliberate. It had seemed to her that any doll who lived in such a charming house should have some link with its builder and so the surname of Wren had been appropriate. Twitching the doll’s taffeta skirt into place as she did every morning, for it always retired at her bedtime and normally rose when she did, she placed it carefully on a shelf. Then she began to assess the damage to the Wren house and hoped it would not be long before Christopher and Michael took a vacation from their studies at Oxford to come again to Sotherleigh. Christopher was the only one who could repair it as it should be done. She did not feel confident about putting it into Ridley’s hands. Much later in the day she discovered that a gold brooch, which had been given to her at her christening, had been looted from her trinket box along with the silver buckles from her shoes.

  Anne and Katherine took account of all that had been done to Sotherleigh. They also had lost shoe buckles and a trimming of semi-precious stones had been torn from one of Anne’s ballgowns, leaving it ruined. She regretted the loss, for the gown had evoked memories of happier times that she hoped would soon come again.

  Silver handles, knobs and inlays overlooked by previous looters had been taken, but the few remaining pieces of good porcelain had been left as before, for such wares smashed all too easily on bumpy army wagons. The most valuable jewellery owned by the two women, including their betrothal rings, had been concealed in a silk purse pinned to Katherine’s petticoats and these items were returned to jewel-boxes again. Katherine was annoyed that Julia’s brooch had not been included in the purse. Privately she blamed her daughter-in-law for the oversight, for no-one of her great age could be expected to think of everything, but for once she refrained from voicing her displeasure to spare Anne from further distress. Much of Katherine’s own jewellery, as well as her daughter-in-law’s, had been given long since in vain support of the late King’s cause, but she had kept back a few heirloom pieces that would be for Michael’s bride, whoever she might be, and for Julia one day. To make up for not contributing these items, she had sent money constantly and drained her resources considerably.

  The Roundheads had torn down some fine tapestries, which lay tumbled and trampled on the floor. Two paintings had suffered the same fate, but a collection of valuable books, although tossed from shelves in the search for hiding places, remained intact. That lessened the importance of smashed doors and drawers, which had either been locked or proved slow to open to impatient hands. On the whole Sotherleigh had escaped relatively lightly.

  That night when Katherine went to bed she felt exhausted. She needed her maid’s help more than usual to get into bed. When she was left alone on her pillows with a single candle flame burning, her thoughts went to the child sound asleep on the other side of the bedchamber wall. The time had come for her to entrust a treasured keepsake into those hands that were younger and more able than hers. Her own failing health and the upsurge of the war again decreed it. All she had to do was to wait for the right moment.

  3

  A few days later the horses came home. Julia was waiting for them with some pieces of sugar from a block that the cook had broken up especially for her. The old coach horses seemed particularly glad to be back, putting on an unusual burst of speed to reach their stalls and
the feed that awaited them there. Starlight snorted and tossed his head while she clapped his neck and welcomed him. She rode him for the rest of the morning and it added to her pleasure that her mother instead of a groom accompanied her on horseback.

  On her own she was allowed to ride only short distances within the park. She missed her rides with her father, but she and her mother had happy times together. Always they had gone on their own for wildflower gathering when Anne wanted some new blooms for her embroidery motifs. They took with them a small, locally made trug, which was a flat-bottomed wooden basket peculiar to Sussex. When lined with damp moss it was the perfect receptacle in which to lay the garnered blooms. Anne would never take more than she needed for her embroidery, except in springtime when the woods were so full of bluebells that it was impossible to put a foot down without treading on them, or in summer when the Downs were as golden with cowslips as if a king’s mantle had been flung over the slopes. Then they would return with armfuls and fill vases all over the house.

  Anne liked to ride, not only for the exercise but to be among the beautiful trees of Sussex with which the county abounded and to look upon its vistas from its softly curving hills. It also gave her a sense of freedom that revitalized her. For although lip service was paid to her as mistress of the house, it was impossible not to feel Katherine’s unchanging possessiveness towards Sotherleigh or to ignore her domination of it through the sheer power of her personality. Away from the house in its tranquil environs, Anne felt she became her own person, her true self rising to the surface, and she was light-hearted and carefree as she never was indoors in her husband’s absence.

  Within a week the good weather broke in a storm, and heavy rain became a daily occurrence. Julia, bored and querulous at being house-bound, missed her riding more than anything and made dashes through the rain whenever possible to commiserate with Starlight in his stall. He did at least get a gallop in the paddock, but whenever the weather eased it was usually when she was at her lessons or during mealtimes, as if the rain-clouds were carrying on some special vendetta against her.

  Unable to tolerate it any longer, she decided one morning to make a special request at dinner, which by established custom in their circles was always eaten at two o’clock. In the absence of the men of the house, the two Pallister ladies and the child did not eat in the Great Hall but in a chamber leading off it. Although the room appeared to be of moderate size, it was possible to make it the same length as the Great Hall by sliding a false wall back into the panelling, thus supplying a supper room when entertaining on a grand scale. Since Robert’s departure the larger section of the room had been permanently shut off to lessen housework for the diminished household staff and only opened again by a maidservant detailed to that purpose during the various Roundhead raids in case it should be detected and damaged in the belief that something of value was hidden beyond it. In any case, none of the maidservants liked to clean the windowless section of the long room, always nervous of being shut in.

  They were unaware of a secret door leading out of it, for that was known only to the adults of the family. Ned and Katherine had seen too much of the intrigues at court, apart from the rise and fall of various religious persecutions, not to make some provision for an emergency at Sotherleigh. It had been Robert’s way into the house on several occasions when he needed to make sure no Roundhead trap had been set for him.

  Julia particularly enjoyed her dinner before she came to the moment of making her request. It was the best time of year for vegetables from the kitchen garden and there was venison pie with a feather-light crust, new potatoes, peas and beans picked only an hour before, crisp salad, and a strawberry syllabub to follow.

  ‘I think the weather is clearing up,’ she announced optimistically, spooning up the last of her syllabub, ‘so may I go riding this afternoon, Mama?’

  Anne happened to be seated where she could see the raindrops running down the window panes. She never liked to refuse Julia anything, but she had her own rules on how to be a good mother and it included preventing her child from catching a chill.

  ‘I’m afraid that is out of the question. It’s still raining and the sky does not look any brighter to me. We must wait and see what tomorrow brings forth. I’m just as eager as you that we should go riding again.’

  Julia opened her mouth to argue, caught her grandmother’s warning eye, and closed it again. There was no chance of getting her way when Katherine gave backing to her mother. After the meal she went upstairs to her room for half an hour during which she fed Susan Wren with wax food on a tiny pewter plate and set her bigger dolls, three of wood and one also of wax, on the bed beside her rag-doll, changing their hats and switching their clothes. Then she saw that the rain had diminished to a drizzle and left the dolls to hasten downstairs to the Queen’s Parlour.

  Anne was in her customary place by the window embroidering minuscule poppies on a cream silk ribbon. She looked up as the door opened and Julia entered, bright as a flame in her gown of tawny taffeta, her chestnut hair almost fox red in the curious greenish light of the dismal afternoon. Smilingly, Anne put a finger to her lips, nodding to where Katherine sat deep in an afternoon doze.

  Julia went swiftly to lean on her mother’s lap, her expression eager. ‘May I go riding now?’ she asked in a whisper as if there had been no break in the conversation at table.

  ‘This drizzle would soak you and Starlight in minutes,’ Anne whispered back. ‘At the first fine morning we’ll go off for a ride together.’

  ‘I could wear my thickest cloak and hood.’

  Anne shook her head in gentle rebuke at such persistence and mouthed her final refusal. No. With a huge sigh, Julia turned to the window and began to drum the fingers of both hands against the panes. Seagulls, driven inland by some stormy turbulence at sea, were wheeling like wind-blown petals against the bruised sky. She longed to be out there with them, to be one with the elements and to gallop her pony far across the park.

  ‘Rain, rain, go away and come again another day,’ she chanted in a low and monotonous tone, mischief in her rising on the hope that if she was exasperating enough she would get her way. Out of the corner of her eye she could see that her mother was beginning to be wearied by it and she pretended not to hear the whispers for her to hush.

  Suddenly Katherine’s voice shot across the room at her. ‘That’s enough!’

  She jumped and yet was impishly glad at having created this diversion. Nothing was ever dull when her grandmother was about, no matter that she was probably going to receive a sharp slap. She spun about and faced Katherine down the length of the Persian carpet, ‘I woke you, Grandmother.’

  ‘Indeed you did.’ There were many reasons why Katherine loved her granddaughter, and the child’s straightforwardness in never trying to evade responsibility for her own actions was one of them. She beckoned with a bony finger. ‘Come here to me.’

  As the child approached Katherine noted how confidently she came, even though punishment was expected. Knots of embroidered ribbons danced around her hems, emphasizing the lively step. Not for the first time Katherine thought how much better it would be if Anne dressed the child a little less elaborately. It was more usual for children to wear simplified versions of adult clothes, but in a larger size this gown could have been worn by any lady to Court. The reason probably lay in Anne’s own childhood of simple garments devoid of all ornament and in sombre colours, for by her own account she had neither worn nor owned any fripperies until her marriage to Robert. For an artistic and sensitive person it must have been a deprivation to have had no outlet in the wearing of lovely hues.

  Julia had come to a standstill by a footstool. ‘Yes, Grandmother?’

  ‘You were making a nuisance of yourself to your dear mama.’

  ‘I know I was.’

  ‘Nobody likes rainy days and you’re old enough to behave.’

  Anne spoke up from her chair, wanting to prevent the punishment she could never have inflicted herself
. ‘Julia has missed her riding for three days now because of the rain.’

  ‘That’s no excuse.’

  Julia prodded a finger into her own chest. ‘I haven’t made any excuses.’

  Katherine frowned. ‘No pertness is called for.’ Then she relented and reached out to draw the child into the circle of her arm. ‘Maybe I can think of something far more entertaining for you than your pony ride, which you take often enough. It happens that I have a treasure upstairs that I’ve been waiting to show you since you were born.’

  ‘A treasure!’ Julia was agog, her eyes stretched wide. ‘Has Michael seen it?’ Always she tried to keep abreast with her brother’s achievements at her age. He had always been able to out-run and out-ride her, but she was resolved that one day he should be the one left behind.

  ‘No, Michael has never seen the treasure I’ve been saving for you.’

  ‘For me! Oh, Grandmother!’ Julia jumped up and down, clapping her hands with excitement.

  Again Anne spoke up. ‘Surely, madam,’ she protested mildly, ‘Julia is too young as yet to appreciate either the keepsake’s history or its value.’

  ‘I disagree. She is doing well at her lessons and this is the chance I’ve long awaited to teach her all that she should know of Sotherleigh.’

  Katherine did not intend to be swayed now.

  Anne contemplated carefully before she gave a nod. ‘In this case I agree with you.’ She always used this phrase when giving in on some matter to her mother-in-law. By a play of consideration before concession, she attempted to emphasize her position as mistress of the house.