added by way of encouragement, “looked like you.”
“You mean to marry again, Sir Fulk?”
“Yes.”
“You are not looking for an heiress?”
“Not at all,” he assured her. “I’m all right as I am. Not ambitious. And you know” – he said this with a sincerity which was obviously meant to touch her – “the trouble with these heiresses is that they often have rather a high idea of the importance of their own opinions.”
“They should be guided.”
“Quite.”
When they left the feast, her hostess was briefly delayed, but as soon as she joined Adela she told her: “You have made a conquest.”
“Sir Fulk?”
“He says he has received encouragement.”
“He’s the most plodding man I ever met in my life.”
“Perhaps, but he’s sound. He’ll give you no trouble.”
“But I’ll give him trouble,” Adela cried.
“You mustn’t. Control yourself. At least get safely married first.”
“But,” Adela said in exasperation, “he looks just like Walter!”
Her companion took a little breath and gave her a tiny glance, which Adela failed to see. “Your cousin is not so bad looking.”
“He is to me.”
“You mean to refuse Sir Fulk if he asks for your hand? Your family could insist. Walter, that is.”
“Oh, just tell him my true nature and he’ll go away at once.”
“I’m afraid you’re being foolish.”
“You don’t sympathise?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You think I have to make a sacrifice of myself?” She looked accusingly at the older woman. “Did
you
make a sacrifice when you married?”
For a moment her companion paused. “Well, I’ll tell you this,” she said quietly. “If I did, my dear late husband never knew it.”
Adela digested this in silence, then nodded ruefully. “Am I clever enough to be married?”
“No,” the older woman replied. “But very few girls are.”
The proposal came the next day. Adela rejected it. Walter Tyrrell arrived a week later, and went straight to see the widow.
“She has refused Sir Fulk?”
“He may not be the right one,” the widow suggested kindly.
“Without my permission? What’s wrong with him? He has two good estates.”
“Perhaps it was something else.”
“He’s a very handsome man.”
“No doubt.”
“I take this rejection personally. It’s an outrage.”
“She’s young, Walter. I like her.”
“You speak to her, then. I won’t. But tell her this,” continued the infuriated knight. “If she refuses one more good man I’ll take her to Romsey Abbey and she can live the rest of her life as a nun. You tell her that.” And with only a perfunctory kiss of his old friend’s hand he left.
“So you see,” the widow told Adela an hour later, “he’s threatening you with Romsey Abbey.”
Adela had to admit that she was shaken. “What sort of place is it? Do you know anyone there?” she asked in alarm.
“It’s rather grand. Mostly noblewomen. And yes, I do know a nun there. She’s a Saxon princess called Edith – one of the last of our old royal house. I knew her mother very well. Edith’s about your age.”
“Does she like it?”
“When the abbess isn’t looking, she takes off her habit and jumps on it.”
“Oh”
“I shouldn’t go there unless you want to be a nun.”
“I don’t.”
“I think you’d better make sure you do marry, but we can take a little time. Just be careful not to encourage any more Sir Fulks.” Then, taking pity on her, the widow added: “I think, actually, that Walter isn’t very likely to carry out that particular threat.”
“Why?”
“Because, Romsey Abbey being what it is, to get you in there he’d probably have to pay.”
However, the autumn season had brought few visitors to Winchester after that. November came, the leaves had all fallen, the sky was grey and the wind that blew over the bare downs was often bitter cold. There were no suitors now. She thought of the Forest sometimes and could almost wish herself back in
“You mean to marry again, Sir Fulk?”
“Yes.”
“You are not looking for an heiress?”
“Not at all,” he assured her. “I’m all right as I am. Not ambitious. And you know” – he said this with a sincerity which was obviously meant to touch her – “the trouble with these heiresses is that they often have rather a high idea of the importance of their own opinions.”
“They should be guided.”
“Quite.”
When they left the feast, her hostess was briefly delayed, but as soon as she joined Adela she told her: “You have made a conquest.”
“Sir Fulk?”
“He says he has received encouragement.”
“He’s the most plodding man I ever met in my life.”
“Perhaps, but he’s sound. He’ll give you no trouble.”
“But I’ll give him trouble,” Adela cried.
“You mustn’t. Control yourself. At least get safely married first.”
“But,” Adela said in exasperation, “he looks just like Walter!”
Her companion took a little breath and gave her a tiny glance, which Adela failed to see. “Your cousin is not so bad looking.”
“He is to me.”
“You mean to refuse Sir Fulk if he asks for your hand? Your family could insist. Walter, that is.”
“Oh, just tell him my true nature and he’ll go away at once.”
“I’m afraid you’re being foolish.”
“You don’t sympathise?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You think I have to make a sacrifice of myself?” She looked accusingly at the older woman. “Did
you
make a sacrifice when you married?”
For a moment her companion paused. “Well, I’ll tell you this,” she said quietly. “If I did, my dear late husband never knew it.”
Adela digested this in silence, then nodded ruefully. “Am I clever enough to be married?”
“No,” the older woman replied. “But very few girls are.”
The proposal came the next day. Adela rejected it. Walter Tyrrell arrived a week later, and went straight to see the widow.
“She has refused Sir Fulk?”
“He may not be the right one,” the widow suggested kindly.
“Without my permission? What’s wrong with him? He has two good estates.”
“Perhaps it was something else.”
“He’s a very handsome man.”
“No doubt.”
“I take this rejection personally. It’s an outrage.”
“She’s young, Walter. I like her.”
“You speak to her, then. I won’t. But tell her this,” continued the infuriated knight. “If she refuses one more good man I’ll take her to Romsey Abbey and she can live the rest of her life as a nun. You tell her that.” And with only a perfunctory kiss of his old friend’s hand he left.
“So you see,” the widow told Adela an hour later, “he’s threatening you with Romsey Abbey.”
Adela had to admit that she was shaken. “What sort of place is it? Do you know anyone there?” she asked in alarm.
“It’s rather grand. Mostly noblewomen. And yes, I do know a nun there. She’s a Saxon princess called Edith – one of the last of our old royal house. I knew her mother very well. Edith’s about your age.”
“Does she like it?”
“When the abbess isn’t looking, she takes off her habit and jumps on it.”
“Oh”
“I shouldn’t go there unless you want to be a nun.”
“I don’t.”
“I think you’d better make sure you do marry, but we can take a little time. Just be careful not to encourage any more Sir Fulks.” Then, taking pity on her, the widow added: “I think, actually, that Walter isn’t very likely to carry out that particular threat.”
“Why?”
“Because, Romsey Abbey being what it is, to get you in there he’d probably have to pay.”
However, the autumn season had brought few visitors to Winchester after that. November came, the leaves had all fallen, the sky was grey and the wind that blew over the bare downs was often bitter cold. There were no suitors now. She thought of the Forest sometimes and could almost wish herself back in
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