Circle of Pearls

by Rosalind Laker

  Anne could cope with no more and Christopher went upstairs and told Katherine of all the problems that were threatening her home and his plans for meeting the difficulties.

  As he expected, she took the information calmly, remarking only, ‘Colonel Warrender is behind this. He couldn’t be content with killing my son, but must do his best to reduce us to penury as well.’

  ‘At least he hasn’t tried to have Sotherleigh sequestered,’ Christopher said. ‘You have been more fortunate than most of your friends.’

  ‘No,’ Katherine said, slowly turning her gaze towards the open window, ‘that I think he cannot, or dare not, do.’ There was a movement of her lips that was almost a smile and Christopher sensed there was more behind the statement than he was likely to be told.

  When he had gone, Katherine looked across the room at the ancient chest and pondered awhile. ‘No,’ she said to herself at last, ‘not unless everything else fails. They were the Queen’s and my dead husband’s gift to me and I must do my best to keep them for Julia!’

  Christopher met with a better response from the servants than he had expected. Katherine’s maid was ready for retirement, having a sister to live with in Chichester, and Sarah was willing to look after both the Pallister ladies for the same single wage. The coachman was quite eager to go, because his brother-in-law had taken an inn and offered him a job there. Two of the housemaids wanted to leave by Christmas anyway, to be married, and the family of a third was moving away, this new situation at Sotherleigh making her decide to go with them. The gatehouse keeper’s wife, who had always done the laundry for the house, volunteered to do some cleaning daily, being fearful of having to move from her comfortable home. Her husband, spurred by the same reason, offered to act as coachman whenever Mrs Pallister should wish to go out. Lastly Cook, having only the day before kicked out a new scullion for stealing, said she would manage on her own, for she had done it before and could do it again in the light of Sotherleigh’s present difficulties.

  With the voluntary withdrawing of five of the staff and others doubling up, the financial pressure was slightly eased and Christopher was able to keep the remaining wages at their original level, which was far more satisfactory for both sides.

  He stayed at Sotherleigh a little longer than he had intended and during the last days of his sojourn he contracted good rents for Anne, taking advantage of the rivalry between the two new neighbours, who were anxious to score over each other in acquiring still more land to allow them to increase their herds and flocks. He felt he was leaving her well organized. She was resolved to make small economies whenever possible and would be helped by keeping to the organized pattern of her days. Before he left she had moved out of her marriage bedchamber into another near Katherine, allowing the east wing to be closed up, and the Long Gallery was similarly shut away in dust-sheets.

  When he returned to Oxford he threw himself back into his work. Life there continued to suit him in health and in every other way. A new coffee-house had opened and at times of relaxation he liked nothing better than to sit in good talk there with intellectual companions, coffee on the table and a pipe in his hand. Occasionally in the street or at a social gathering a girl’s pretty face would catch his eye, but the normal urge would pass, nullified by work and more work. The universe was full of wonders yet to be discovered. He was particularly fascinated by the planet Saturn and through his telescope, which was one of his own design, he had been able to discover and record information about it not known before.

  He made another break in his work when Dean Wren was taken ill. He went home and stayed a week. By that time his father was recovering after a minor crisis common to old age. While there Christopher told his sister and her husband of his visit to Sotherleigh and the tragic reason for it.

  ‘I’ll write to Mrs Pallister,’ Susan said, full of pity, ‘and send our condolences. I’ve been thinking for quite a little while of taking up Father’s correspondence with her on his behalf, now that his strength and his eyesight are fading.’

  She kept her word. Her interesting letters became a source of cheer to Anne while Julia appreciated the news sent about Christopher’s achievements, which would never have been learned from him.

  *

  Several months had elapsed since Christopher’s visit when Julia wrote to tell him that a letter had been received from Michael. It had been brought to Sotherleigh by the servant of a merchant who had met him in Paris and had promised to see it was delivered.

  It was a sad letter, for her brother had heard of their father’s death from a Cavalier come recently from England to escape Parliamentary retribution. He expressed the wish to be at Sotherleigh to help console them all in their grief. He wrote little of himself, his thoughts too concerned for his family, but reading between the lines it was easy to guess that things had not gone easily for either him or Joe, and it was clear that the King in exile was faring no better. Michael explained that France was generally unsettled due to a struggle for power, referred to generally as the Fronde, between the French nobles and the young Louis XIV, which was making life difficult for everyone. Michael gave no address, promising one at a later date, and Julia closed her letter to Christopher with a promise of her own to keep him informed when anything more was heard from her brother.

  At Sotherleigh Michael’s letter was read aloud by Anne a good many times, its contents dissected and discussed with Katherine and Julia, conclusions being drawn from this sentence or that. Mary hugged to herself the fact that he had included her by name in his fond greetings to all at Sotherleigh. Perhaps he was thinking about her a lot in his exile, recalling her improved looks after her recovery, the kiss they had exchanged and her last clinging embrace to which he had responded. When the chance came she would write to him. It was expensive to send a letter in England and far more expensive to get one delivered abroad, but she was saving up. These days she had a little money of her own, for she had volunteered to become the dressmaker for the family and to make the working garments supplied to the women servants, wool in winter and cotton in summer. She had not wanted to be paid, but Anne had insisted, saying that she must have some remuneration since she would be saving Sotherleigh money in any case.

  Mary was making steady progress with her reading and writing and had set down in simple words the details of her early years and her involvement with her uncles’ plot and its aftermath for the Pallister ladies to read. Julia told her of the woman at Oxford whose voice had not been silenced by the noose. This had frightened her, making her think the Pallisters might become impatient with her or wary, but that had not happened. Anne had said the woman had been exceptionally lucky and nothing more on the subject was mentioned again.

  Secretly living for Michael’s homecoming, Mary always watched out to ease the spells of overwhelming sadness that came upon Anne at times. Being by nature a kindly girl, Mary would have done anything she could for Michael’s family even if he had not requested it. She had taken the trouble to find out the folk tunes and other pieces within her range that Katherine liked best and, if they were not already known to her, she would pick them up by ear when Anne or Julia played them on the spinet. Frequently she would sit on her own with Katherine, playing for the old lady’s entertainment and unaware that she had a true musical talent.

  Katherine suspected that the girl had had a good singing voice before her ordeal on the gibbet. Then one afternoon Mary opened her mouth and strained to bring forth the lyrics of the folk song she was playing. No musical sound came, but one word and then another came through, husky but articulate. For months past she had not dared to try to speak again, unable to face another disappointment, and now she sat stunned, the lute silent in her lap.

  ‘I spoke,’ she exclaimed wonderingly. ‘Did you hear me, Mistress Katherine?’

  ‘I did indeed.’ Katherine was smiling with delight and nodding her head.

  ‘I’m not mute for ever after all!’ The girl’s face was suffused with joy.

 
‘Don’t strain your voice by raising it to make me hear in my deafness.’ Katherine beckoned to her, indicating the footstool. ‘Come and sit near me.’

  Mary rushed to the footstool, breaking down on the way. She sat sobbing tears of relief and happiness, her one thought being that she would be able to talk to Michael and tell him of her love when next they met. Katherine drew the girl’s head on to her lap, patting her shoulder and smoothing her hair until she became composed again.

  Until that day Mary had always been a little afraid of Katherine, not at all sure that she was liked by the old lady, but now that had changed. She felt herself to be fully accepted into the family. And her voice could finally be heard!

  She did not realize that, whereas Katherine had never had anything against her personally, having pitied her most profoundly for all she had been through, it was her devotion to Michael that had been and still was a barrier. Katherine’s concern was that Mary might win her grandson through sheer compassion on his part and nothing else, which she did not consider to be a sound basis for marriage. There was also the question of their different social backgrounds to which Anne would give little consideration, but which Katherine, brought up in Court circles, felt to be of utmost importance.

  Much as Katherine missed him, she thought some good must come of Michael’s being away, for he had left before his sense of responsibility was able to trap him into a commitment he would surely have secretly regretted for the rest of his life. Through spending time abroad he should return with more wisdom and experience in emotional matters, saving himself and Mary from an irretrievable mistake.

  Mary’s little hoard of savings did not increase as much as she had expected, for in these hard times it was more patching and mending than actual dressmaking that took place. Katherine wanted nothing new, having an extensive wardrobe from which she could draw for variety, and Anne continued to keep to black in her widowhood, having had four good gowns made in Chichester at the time of bereavement, which she rotated for equal wear. Neither did the women servants expect replacements as frequently as before. Yet the general parsimony was not through lack of available fabrics or a need to purchase, for Sotherleigh had begun as a house of plenty and large stocks of most things had been maintained, including enough sewing silks and threads for years ahead as well as linen and woollens for embroidered bed-hangings and coverlets and every other household need. It meant that nowadays when funds were particularly low, the stores could be tapped and, if it should prove possible, replacements made later.

  There was one storage chest, its surface covered with Elizabethan cross-stitch from Katherine’s days at Court, that contained only finer fabrics. Originally it had held the rich Oriental silks and gossamer fabrics from the Indian continent that Ned had brought home from his voyages; afterwards Katherine had always bought and lain away sumptuous materials for whenever she should need a new gown. Anne had done the same, being obedient to all the traditions of Sotherleigh. Yet the lid was never lifted in these penny-pinching times, the fear being that there would be no money to buy more of the same quality should family gowns be needed for special occasions, such as a wedding gown for Mary and later Julia with trousseaux as well.

  Consequently Mary’s most frequent task was to lower hems for Julia, who was growing fast. When there were no hems left she resorted to adding deep bands in a contrasting colour taken from a box of left-over remnants from gowns made for Katherine and Anne and even Julia herself in more affluent days. The joins were disguised by a simple braid or feather-stitching. Anne would have liked her ribbons to be used, but in this new Puritan England, fripperies of adornment were frowned upon. Women who dared to appear frivolous in dress were labelled as whores and in some cases rubbish and dung had been thrown at them in the streets. As a result most of Anne’s lovely ribbons were rolled up and stored away when finished, for she had no wish for her innocent daughter to be shouted at for having too many loops and ribbons dancing on her outer clothes. Her own gowns, which had not seen the light of day since Robert’s death, constituted a source of material that could be used when wanted. So when Mary, who had become a little plumper, split armholes beyond repair, or seams wore out through sheer wear, she was allowed to unpick one of these gowns and cut it to a new pattern for herself. After a while, when the box of scrap materials could no longer supply suitable additions to Julia’s garments, another of Anne’s gowns was made over for her. Whenever Katherine saw this work in progress she was reminded of Queen Elizabeth’s wardrobe, which had been similarly disassembled, although for a far less useful purpose.

  Julia still had to spend an allotted time at her sampler each week. It was a task originated in a previous century by needlewomen to record various types of stitches before books on needlework appeared. She was presently embroidering a strawberry, which symbolized Perfect Righteousness, in a feather stitch, which had been brought back from the Crusades. Her sampler was growing band by band of embroidery, the work done rolled up around its ivory rod in her lap while she sewed, enough leeway left for easy movement. Her chatter entertained Mary, who sat sewing beside her.

  ‘Next to the strawberry will come a lily for Purity and then a rose for Divine Love.’ She chuckled. ‘Michael wouldn’t be able to believe his eyes if he could see me stitching placidly like this, because he remembers my tantrums over it in the past. How he would laugh if I admitted that I enjoy the work now!’

  From Julia’s talk of her brother Mary had learned much about him, including incidents from his childhood, which his sister did not remember personally but which came from what she had been told. The Pallisters were like all families in having amusing accounts of younger members’ activities in childhood that were related often, and Mary never tired of any stories that involved Michael.

  His second letter had arrived more than a year after the first, much battered in transit where it had been passed from hand to hand, and it had been written three months before. It appeared that two previous letters sent during the past year had failed to reach Sotherleigh. In contrast to the first one received, this letter was cheerful and optimistic in tone. He was still in Paris. The Fronde had finally been settled with the young Louis XIV in power and the Court back at the Palace of the Louvre. Michael wrote that his ability to speak French had stood him in good stead, for he had obtained a post as a clerk with prospects of promotion. Joe was working in the royal stables and had become fluent in all the curses in the French language and little else!

  Our own King Charles, Michael continued, is still living gloomily in poor accommodation at the Louvre with his mother. Since she is French it no doubt suits her to preside over her son’s exile, but she keeps him short of money, although in all charity she may not have any to spare. He has a meagre wardrobe and no horse of his own. Joe tries always to supply him with one of the best in the stables whenever he rides out. Mostly he is in the company of fellow Englishmen of noble birth, all homesick and as impoverished as himself. The French courtiers are a haughty lot and show no friendliness to an exiled English King and his shabbily dressed companions.

  Michael went on to assure all at home that his own lot was much better. He had a room and board with a good French couple who kept a bakery and lived above the shop. Paris was a city of narrow streets and ancient buildings, the majority dating back to medieval times, the more magnificent being, among others, the Louvre and the Cathedral of Notre Dame. Most of the houses and shops had outside shutters, the clattering of which in the mornings was the equivalent to the dawn chorus of the birds in the trees at Sotherleigh. Joe had accommodation at the Louvre stables, which he shared with thirty other grooms, and the two of them met at least once a week. Michael closed his letter with a request that his mother should write with all speed, for his only worry was to know how those dearest to him were faring at Sotherleigh. As before he sent individual greetings and Mary blushed when her name was read out.

  At Oxford Christopher received a full report of Michael’s letter from Julia with the greetings th
at had been sent to him. He was relieved to know that things were going better for his old friend. His own life continued to be extremely busy. He had become a Master of Arts by the time he was twenty-one and was a Fellow of All Souls. In between his lectures he continued his research with a zest that made twenty-four hours in the day far too short for him. He continued his study of the planet Saturn while his inventions and scientific experiments continued to bring eminent people from far afield to see the work he had in hand and he was, as ever, eager to share his knowledge. In addition to everything else, he had made a large and very beautiful sundial for the south wall of the Chapel of All Souls. His sister and her husband were invited to its dedication.

  Susan, gazing up at the sundial gleaming like the face of the sun itself, saw it as a token of her brother’s thanksgiving to God. Although extremely proud of his artistic and scientific achievement, she held back the praise she would have given him, knowing that nothing made him more uncomfortable or embarrassed, and spoke only of its practical use to him, which he was pleased to discuss. That same evening she talked of him to her husband.

  ‘Since he sees his talents as God-given, which indeed they are,’ she remarked meditatively in their room at the hostelry where she and William were staying, ‘he will take no credit for anything himself. He is the most modest and retiring of men and ever will be.’

  ‘All the more surprising when one realizes he is a genius,’ William replied, leaning a shoulder against the wall as he watched his wife putting a final touch to her hair with a comb before a mirror. They were shortly to go downstairs to meet Christopher for supper.

  She twisted on the stool where she sat to look up at him. ‘You were impressed by all he showed you of his latest work this afternoon, were you not?’