Philippa Gregory - Meridon

‘No,’ I said sadly. ‘I should not ask that of you. You should be at Wideacre.’

He swung into the saddle and looked down at me, where I stood on the pavement. ‘So should you,’ he observed.

I raised a hand to him. ‘When shall I see you again?’ I asked.

He smiled. ‘You tell me when, and I will come,’ he promised.

‘Next week?’ I hazarded.

Will smiled, a warm generous smile. ‘It just so happens that I need to come to London next Wednesday. You have just put me in mind of it. I’ll stay overnight and ride with you in the morning.’

‘Yes,’ I said, and I reached up my hand to him. Will took it and bent down low and pulled back my glove so that my wrist was bared. He pressed a kiss on to the delicate skin of the inside of my wrist and then buttoned the glove again. It was as if the touch of his lips was kept safe inside.

‘Send for me if you need me,’ he said.

I nodded, and stepped back. His horse trotted forwards and I watched them go.

30

Even if Will had not warned me of Perry I should have been watching him anyway. His drinking was getting worse, his nights were getting later. One morning, when I came out for my ride I found him retching hopelessly, clinging to the railings in broad daylight.

I took his collar in a hard grip and hauled him to his feet, and then slung his arm over my shoulder and half dragged, half walked him up the steps to the front door. The tweeny, who was up to light the fires before anyone else, let us in, horror-struck at having to open the door, which should be done by the butler, and aghast that it was his lordship.

‘Help me,’ I said sharply. ‘I’ll never get him up the stairs on my own.’

She bobbed a scared curtsey and dived under his other arm. ‘Yes’m,’ she said. ‘But if you please ‘m, I’m not allowed up the front stairs.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ I said through my teeth. Perry had got a grip on one of the railings and would not let go. ‘Come on, Perry!’ I said. ‘Stay here much longer and your ma will see you!’

I thought that would shift him, but it did not. He turned his face towards me and I saw his blue eyes were suddenly filled with tears. ‘She wouldn’t care,’ he said. ‘She never did care for me, and she doesn’t care for me now.’

‘Nonsense,’ I said briskly. I unclasped his hand from the railing and nodded at the maid. We both made a little rush at the step and got him over it. I heard a clatter of hooves behind me and there was Gerry, the groom from the stables riding his horse and leading Sea. ‘Wait for me!’ I called, and then grabbed Peregrine as his knees buckled underneath him as we made it into the hall.

Peregrine collapsed on to the bottom step of the stairs and looked up at the maid and me. ‘That’s funny,’ he said. ‘Sarah? Now there are two of you.’

‘Oh come on! Perry!’ I said. ‘We’ve got to get you to your room. People will be getting up soon, we don’t want them to see you like this.’

Perry’s perfect mouth turned down again. ‘I don’t care,’ he said. ‘They don’t care. Everyone knows I’m not as good as George. No one expects me to be as good as George. No one likes me as much as they liked him.’

I nodded to the maid and we grabbed hold of an arm each and turned him around to face the stairs.

‘Everyone loved George,’ Perry said glumly.

The maid and I went up two steps and then, borne back by the dead weight of Perry, we went back one.

‘He was the image of my papa,’ Perry said. ‘And my papa loved him like his own son.’

We made a bit of ground while Perry considered this, nearly as far as the first landing. But Perry grabbed at the banister and turned to explain to me. ‘He was his son, you see,’ he said.

I nodded. ‘I know, Perry,’ I said soothingly. We got hold of him again and started the ascent up to the next landing.

‘I am too,’ Perry said sadly. ‘It just didn’t seem so important.’

I was watching his feet in the expensive boots. He was half-walking, half-dragged by us.

‘Papa always said I looked like Mama. Not like him,’ he said. ‘He said I looked like a girl. He used to call me little Miss Peregrine.’

This time it was me who stopped, it cost us a few steps downwards.

‘What?’ I said.

‘He called me Pretty Miss Peregrine,’ Perry said. ‘I never got the feeling he really liked me. Sent me away to school when I was six. Never had me home for the holidays when he was there. All over the place I was. Scotland, London, even France one holiday. Never home with him and George.’ The tears had overflowed and his face was wet. ‘Once George and Papa were dead I thought it would be different,’ he said. ‘But I suppose I just don’t look like a lord.’

‘You do!’ I said fiercely. ‘You do look like a lord. You look like an angel, Perry. You are the best-looking man I know. And if you could stay sober you would be a really good man.’

‘You think so?’ Perry looked a little brighter. ‘Well, I think I might be.’ He thought for a moment. ‘But I’d rather be a drunk,’ he said.

We were at his bedroom door now and the maid and I pushed him through.

‘Should we take his boots off?’ I asked her.

She dipped me a curtsey. ‘Please’m, I’m not allowed in the bedrooms,’ she said.

‘That’s all right,’ I said. I was weary with the conventions of this house, of this life where a six-year-old boy could be sent away to school and never allowed home again. ‘You can go now.’

I put my hand in my pocket and found a sixpenny piece. ‘Here,’ I said. ‘Thank you for helping.’

Her eyes widened, and I suddenly remembered how far sixpence could go if you were just a young girl like this one. Like the two of us had been.

She went out and closed the door behind her, and I set to work on Perry’s boots. By the time I had them off he was lying on his back and tears were seeping out from under his closed eyelids. When I sat on the bed beside him he turned his head to me and buried it in my lap.

‘I’ll never love anyone like I love George,’ he said sorrowfully. ‘I wish he was still here, and then I wouldn’t have to be a lord any more. I wouldn’t have to get married or have an heir, or anything.’

I stroked his blond curls and twisted one perfect circle around my index finger.

‘I know,’ I said gently. ‘I miss someone too.’

His grip around my waist tightened, and I could feel his shoulders shaking as he sobbed.

‘Sarah,’ he said, his voice muffled. ‘Oh God, Sarah, get me out of this mess. I seem to be more and more unhappy every day and nothing helps.’

‘There,’ I said helplessly. I patted his shoulder and stroked his back as if he were a little boy crying from some secret hurt.

‘I’ve got to take Papa’s place and everyone knows I’m not good enough,’ he said. He lifted his head and looked at me. His eyes were red from weeping and from the drink. ‘I’ve got to take George’s place and no one will ever love me like they loved George,’ he said.

I put my hand up to cup his cheek. ‘I will,’ I said. I hardly knew what I was saying. My grief for her, and my sorrow and my loneliness at the emptiness of the life we were all living seemed to well up inside me and call that there should be love between us. That at least Perry and I could be kind to one another. That here was a man suffering like a little child, and that he was brought so low that even I, with my own pain and failure, could help him.

‘Don’t grieve, Perry,’ I said gently. ‘I can care for you. We’ll not be here much longer and then we can go home and live near Wideacre together. People will forget George, they will forget your papa. We’ll run the estate well together and people will see what a good man you can be. Even your mama will be pleased when she sees how well you can run the estate.’