Синтия Хэррод-Иглз - The Founding

Belle felt Eleanor stiffen and she said in a gently anxious voice, ‘She is to go away at the end of a week? Why, we had hoped that she might be able to be with me when my time comes to lie-in —'

‘No, my dear,' Lord Edmund shook his head firmly. ‘It's of no use. We must get her north before the bad weather, and if she doesn't go with her betrothed it will be necessary for me to arrange an armed guard for her, and that might not be convenient.'

‘I am to be married, then, at York?' Eleanor found her voice, but a very small voice.

‘Yes, mistress, you shall be married at your new home. Normally, of course, you would spend some months there to learn the ways of the household, but there is no mistress there to teach you, Morland's wife having died long since. So you must teach yourself as you go along.' He smiled encouragingly, but Eleanor could not shift the lump of misery and shame from her heart; she could not smile. Belle, guessing a little at her feelings, tried once again to excuse her.

‘My lord,' she said, 'will you not give mistress Eleanor leave to withdraw? I see the news has come as a shock, and perhaps she has need of time to compose herself.'

‘Of course, my dear. You have leave, mistress,' Lord Edmund said graciously.

Eleanor curtseyed deeply, flung a look of gratitude at Belle, and hurried from the room. Once through the door she ran down the stairs, through the hall under the surprised eyes of the servants, and out into the pleasaunce. Here she walked up and down, wringing her hands together and turning her wretched thoughts over and over in her mind. It was born upon her then how great was the difference between a hope, however slender, and no hope at all.

It was only a few minutes before she was found there by Gaby, her nurse, who had hurried after her as fast as her stoutness allowed when she saw Eleanor run through the hall. Gaby had been her wetnurse and had graduated from that position to that of personal maid. Eleanor's mother had died when Eleanor was an infant: Gaby was all the mother she had ever known.

As Eleanor turned towards her at the end of the walk, Gaby was shocked by the distress in that loved face. ‘What is it, mistress? What's happened?'

‘Oh Gaby! My lord has just told me — I am to be married!’

Gaby's breath was released in a rush. So it was no worse than that, God be thanked!

‘Well, mistress,' she said reasonably, drawing Eleanor into the shelter of the bower and sitting with her on the little wooden bench, ‘you are eighteen years old. You should expect to be married, it is only right. Most girls are married long before this, you know.'

‘I know, Gaby, but you don't understand.' Eleanor turned tragic eyes upon her. ‘They are to marry me to a farmer's son. A Yorkshire farmer!’

Gaby shook her head sadly. ‘You are too high, my little lady. The match is a good one — not what I would have liked for you, you being a gentleman's daughter, but a good match none the less. He is the only son, and heir to great wealth. The father is very rich and becoming quite influential in government circles. Remember, my love, you have no dowry. A man of higher standing would not take you.'

‘Would not?' Eleanor whispered. ‘He might if — if he loved me.’

Gaby made a sound expressive of disgust. 'Love! What has marriage to do with love? You are talking nonsense, mistress, and you know it. Once you are married, that is the time for love. You will love your husband as the Bible bids you, and be happy.'

‘I will not,' Eleanor said in a low voice, and her eyes flashed angrily. ‘They may marry me to a vulgar northern barbarian, but I will never love him. I hate him!' Gaby crossed herself automatically at these words, but her face darkened with shock and anger. ‘You wicked girl! Never let me hear you say such a thing again! Why, it is your sacred duty laid down by our blessed Lord himself that a wife should love her husband —'

‘You forget yourself, mistress Gaby,' Eleanor said coldly, drawing herself up. ‘You should not speak to your mistress in such terms.’

For a moment they stared at each other, and then Gaby said quietly, ‘I beg your pardon, mistress. I spoke from my heart, for you know that I love you like my own child.' Eleanor stared a moment longer, and then melted suddenly, and flung her arms around her kind nurse. ‘Oh Gaby, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. You know I don't mean it — only I'm so unhappy. How could they do it to me — how could they think so little of me as to marry me to a farmer?'

‘My dear mistress, your ideas are more high than just. A farmer may be a kind, godly and educated man as well as another. Besides, there is nothing you can do about it. The choice is not for you, and you must make the best of it that you can, and make him a good wife, and learn to love him.'

‘Well, I will try to be a good wife,' Eleanor said in a low voice, 'but I can never, never love him.'

‘You think of that other,' Gaby said, glancing round her to make sure they were not overheard. Her voice sank to a whisper, but was none the less forceful. Put him from your mind, mistress! It was madness to think of him. You, a penniless orphan, to think of a royal duke? Madness! Do not dare to love him, mistress, or it will make you miserable and wicked. Put him from your thoughts now for ever, and never speak a word of it to anyone — anyone!’

Eleanor looked at her sadly. She knew that here was an end to her hopes, yet she knew also that she could never forget him. She would love him still, though it would be her secret. They would and could marry her off as it pleased them, but what was in her heart was between herself and God, and they could not make her love as they willed. But to Gaby she shewed the properly submissive face, a face in which she was going to have a lot of practice over the next few days.

2

Well, it was over. By ten o'clock on the day after the arrival of the Morland party, the betrothal had taken place, and Eleanor was as good as a married woman. The ceremony took place quietly and with no unseemliness, and the bridal party then repaired to the hall for the feast. Everything had been done in the grandest style: the hall itself had been redded up, with fresh rushes laid down, the hangings beaten, the tables and benches scrubbed, and the high table was laid with a beautiful damask cloth upon which were set the trenchers and goblets, the napkins and towels, the salts and breads all in their proper order.

Lord Edmund and Belle led the way in, followed by Eleanor and her betrothed and Morland, all in their best clothes. Eleanor looked as beautiful as she ought, dressed in her best surcoat of crimson wool over a cotte of sky-blue linen. Her little waist was cinched in with a belt of gold wires set with lapis, her bride-gift from her master, and from it hung her missal, and an ivory pomander ball, Belle's bride-gift to her. On her head was a head-dress a cornes with a veil of stiffened fine muslin: it was heavy, and difficult to balance, and it ensured that she walked with her head up, like a Queen.

Her husband-to-be thought she was a Queen. He had been dazzled by her from the first moment he had set eyes upon her, and the fact that she evidently thought little of him did not deter him. He realized that he had made a bad first impression, coming in dirty and dusty from the journey, with the added disadvantage that the puppy had bathed him all the way down in a stream of urine, which added its own particular pungency to the smell of sweat and horses. Even now, bathed and dressed in his best, he knew that he looked like a sparrow amongst jays. His best clothes were little fine; and his lean, gangly body was not one that best set off fine clothes. He walked beside her, nervously.