Juliet Landon - A Most Unseemly Summer

Catching the direction of the enquiry, Felice put her mind at rest while speaking clearly enough for Sir Leon to hear. ‘No, Dame Audrey. Certainly not. Indeed, I’m making plans to leave soon. This is merely a brief visit to check on progress for Lord Deventer.’ Surprisingly, she thought she detected something like relief in the woman’s eyes, but Dame Celia was vociferous in her reaction to the news.

Her pale eyes widened in surprise. ‘Surely not, my lady. This will be May Week, when we have our holy days and games. You’ll not return before we’ve given you a chance to see how we celebrate, will you?’

‘Of course she’ll not!’ The answer came from halfway down the nave where the energetic vicar approached them in a flurry of white. Billowing and back-lit by the west door, he bore down upon them like an angelic host. ‘She’ll not, will she, Sir Leon? No one leaves Wheatley during the May Day revels, least of all our patron’s lovely daughter.’

Sir Leon, who appeared to find Felice’s denial more entertaining than serious, agreed somewhat mechanically. ‘Indeed not, vicar. I’ve already told her she must stay.’

‘Good…good.’ The vicar beamed. ‘That’s settled, then.’

‘Then you approve of May Day revels, vicar?’ Felice said.

‘Hah! It makes no difference whether I approve or not, my lady. They’d still do it. I believe half the fathers and mothers of Wheatley were conceived on May Eve. Swim with the tide or drown, that’s always been my motto, and it’s stood me in good stead, so far, as you can see. I keep an eye on things, and so does my good lady here, and we baptise the bairns who’re born every new year. That’s probably why the church is so full. Now, have you seen the new buildings yet, my lady? A work of art, you know.’

‘Not yet, sir.’

‘Be glad to show you round myself, but the master builder must take precedence over a mere clerk of works.’ He grinned, glancing amiably at Sir Leon.

Sir Leon explained the vicar’s mock-modesty. ‘The Reverend Aycombe is also my clerk of works for the building-site, my lady. Both he and Mr Vyttery hold two positions as priests and building officials.’

‘Priests?’ said Felice. ‘Mr Vyttery is a priest?’ She stared at Dame Audrey who simpered, icily.

‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘May hasband was sacristan here at Wheatley Ebbey. Augustinian, you see. All the manks were priests.’

Felice nodded. If she was to be obliged to stay here, she had better learn something about the place. ‘Of course. And you, vicar? You were at the abbey, too?’

‘Abbot, my lady,’ he beamed.

Not only married priests, but married monks. And Timon had told her more than once that it could never be done, that he was already courting danger by celebrating the Roman Catholic Mass in private which was why no one must know of his whereabouts. But, of course, he had been concerned for her safety: recusants were fined quite heavily these days.

It was later that morning as she passed through the courtyard behind the Abbot’s House that Felice noticed something odd which she could not at first identify. The yard was always emptier on Sundays, yet the stables had to be cleaned out, even on the sabbath, and it was not until she remembered yesterday’s bustle of men and furnishings that she realised what was missing. The carts. The waggons.

‘William,’ she called to the head groom. ‘What have you done with the waggons?’

William came towards her, leading a burly bay stallion. ‘Waggons, m’lady? Sent ’em back to Sonning yesterday.’

‘What?’

Unruffled, the man rubbed the horse’s nose affectionately. ‘Gone back to Lord Deventer’s. Sir Leon’s orders. He said you’d not be needing ’em. He wants the stable space for his own ’osses. This one’s his.’ He pulled at the horse’s forelock.

‘Did he, indeed? And how in heaven’s name shall I be able to return home without horses and waggons? Did you ask Sir Leon that?’

‘Yes, m’lady,’ William replied, not understanding her indignation. ‘He said you’d be able to manage, one way or another, but there wasn’t room for Lord Deventer’s ’osses and his, too. He sent ’em all back, sumpter ’osses, too.’

‘And the carters? He sent them back?’

‘Only a few. He says the rest can stay and work here.’

‘But carters don’t do any other work, William. They cart.’

‘Yes, m’lady. That’s what they’ll be doing for Sir Leon.’

‘No, they will not!’

After quite a search of the New House and several missed turnings, she found the high-handed and mighty surveyor by crashing into him round a corner of one of the narrow pannelled passageways. He did not retreat, as she would have preferred him to do, but manoeuvred her backwards by her elbows until she sat with a thud upon a window-seat in the thickness of the wall.

‘You certainly have a way with entrances and exits, my lady,’ he said, smiling down at her. ‘But I’m flattered by your haste to find me.’

‘Don’t be!’ she said coldly, standing up again. ‘Why have you removed my waggons and horses and appropriated my carters?’

He leaned an elbow on the top edge of the wavy-wood panelling and stuck his fingers into his thick hair, holding it off his forehead as if to see her better. ‘Did you need them urgently?’ he said, disarmingly.

‘That is not the point. They were mine.’

‘Yours, were they? Ah, and I thought they belonged to Deventer.’

‘Don’t mince words, Sir Leon. I needed them for my return to Sonning. You knew that.’

‘Then you have a short memory, my lady, since we are not mincing words. I’ve already told you that you’ll be staying here at Wheatley, and therefore the waggons and horses will be required by Deventer for his own use. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten our understanding already.’

‘There is no understanding, Sir Leon. There never will be any understanding between us, not on any subject. And I want my waggons back. You have taken over my stables and my carters; do you intend to take over my kitchens next, by any chance?’

Languidly, he came to stand before her, easing her back again on to the window-seat, resting his hands on the panelling to prevent her escape. ‘Not to mince words, my lady, I can take over the entire Abbot’s House any time I choose, as I intended to do to clear the guesthouse for renovation. Would you prefer it if I did that sooner instead of later? We could pack in there quite cosily, eh?’ He lowered his head to hers.

She gulped, her chest tightening at the new threat which she knew he was quite capable of carrying out, even at his own expense. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘But…’

‘But what?’

‘I…I did not agree to stay here. I cannot stay…in the…in the…’

‘In the circumstances?’

She breathed out, slowly. ‘Yes.’

‘You are referring to our first meeting?’

She nodded, looking down at her lap and feeling an uncomfortable heat creeping up towards her ears.

‘Which you find painful to recall?’

He was baiting her. ‘Yes,’ she flared, ‘you know I do or you’d not insist on dragging it into every argument.’

His face came closer until he needed only to whisper. ‘Then why, if it’s so very painful, did you return to the garden last night, lady? To relive it, just a little? Eh?’

She looked into his eyes for a hint of laughter but there was none to be seen, only a grey and steady seriousness that gave nothing of either enjoyment or sympathy for her chagrin.

‘Well?’ he said.

‘How do you know that?’

‘I was there. I saw you.’

‘The hounds…?’

‘I sent them back to you.’

‘I went to…to look at the wall. You had it repaired.’