household and was now one of the Council of Regency, and had many things to discuss with her about her royal charges. ‘But depend upon it, they’ve found time to discuss their own affairs too, and what I say is, the sooner the merrier: she’s a sweet kind creature and deserves her luck, and I wish it with all my heart – don’t you too, my Lady Bess?’ she added, suddenly surprised by the child’s grave silence.
But Bess, having got all she wanted out of Ashley, was quick to assume a reproving air. ‘It’s a serious matter,’ she said, ‘and you oughtn’t to talk of it, Ashley. Oh, to
me
, yes,’ she put in quickly, at Ashley’s indignant movement – besides, she might want Ashley to talk again. ‘But not to anyone else. The Council may not approve, and I know Edward Seymour hates his brother—’
‘So do I,
and
I know why. Jealous!’
‘Jealousy is a dreadful thing,’ said Bess virtuously.
Ashley gave a quick look at the demure face. ‘That’s too good to be true. Are you mocking me, my Lady Mischief?’
‘No, only myself,’ murmured Bess, but went on rapidly, ‘At the least, they’d make a horrible scandal if it were talked about so soon after the King’s death.’
‘Talk?
I
talk! It was only to please Your Highness, and I’ve found you are to be trusted. You can be sure I would never talk to anyone else, never, on any dangerous matter.’
‘Can I, Cat? Can I?’ She said it slowly, reflectively, and those clear, light-coloured eyes of hers seemed to Cat to be looking right through her. Was it a child who spoke and looked thus? It was more like some ageless Sibyl.
Cat had flushed to the roots of her hair; she took her young mistress’s hand in both of hers and said, as though she were giving the oath of fealty, ‘I swear to Your Highness, you can be sure of me.’
Bess leapt up, flicked Ashley on the nose, cried, ‘Silly old Ash-Cat, what are you so solemn about? Look! the shower is over and the sun’s come out!’ and dashed into the garden.
CHAPTER FIVE
It was a large and charming garden, enclosed within its high red brick wall that was only ten years old, but already mellowed to a warm rosy hue, and had small fruit trees splayed against it. Some old trees and shrubs had been allowed to remain, though they interrupted the symmetry of the formal rectangular flowerbeds and knot gardens and paths edged with box hedges a few inches high. In the wall at the far end was set a postern gate which opened on to the reedy marshy fields, bare of hedges but with outcrops of scrub and forest, that spread away into a blue distance of low wooded hills, the heights of Highgate and Hampstead.
And across this open country, by the single road that led through the village of Chelsea to the Manor, Tom Seymour came riding this windy stormy sunny afternoon in late February.
He saw the bright sails of the boats on the Thames scudding as if on dry land beyond the trees, which were still bare and purple-black, but flushed here and there with the palest glimmer of gold; it might have been the willows budding, or only wet twigs in the sunlight. The square stone tower of the church on the riverbank looked almost white against a blue-black stormcloud, for the sun was shining onit, and the golden weathercock flashed through the tossing branches as if some exotic bird had strayed up-river with the seagulls that squalled and swirled around it, making wheels and arrows of white light.
He came to the new red wall of the Manor garden, dismounted and gave his horse’s bridle to the groom that rode with him, opened the postern gate with a key that he pulled out of a little purse in his belt; and there he stood for a moment, quite still. The formal flowerbeds were glistening with wet earth, but along the borders crocuses pierced them with little flecks of coloured light. Some hazel shrubs dangled their catkins in the wind in a shimmer of faintly yellow tassels, and a blackbird shouted its early song as it
But Bess, having got all she wanted out of Ashley, was quick to assume a reproving air. ‘It’s a serious matter,’ she said, ‘and you oughtn’t to talk of it, Ashley. Oh, to
me
, yes,’ she put in quickly, at Ashley’s indignant movement – besides, she might want Ashley to talk again. ‘But not to anyone else. The Council may not approve, and I know Edward Seymour hates his brother—’
‘So do I,
and
I know why. Jealous!’
‘Jealousy is a dreadful thing,’ said Bess virtuously.
Ashley gave a quick look at the demure face. ‘That’s too good to be true. Are you mocking me, my Lady Mischief?’
‘No, only myself,’ murmured Bess, but went on rapidly, ‘At the least, they’d make a horrible scandal if it were talked about so soon after the King’s death.’
‘Talk?
I
talk! It was only to please Your Highness, and I’ve found you are to be trusted. You can be sure I would never talk to anyone else, never, on any dangerous matter.’
‘Can I, Cat? Can I?’ She said it slowly, reflectively, and those clear, light-coloured eyes of hers seemed to Cat to be looking right through her. Was it a child who spoke and looked thus? It was more like some ageless Sibyl.
Cat had flushed to the roots of her hair; she took her young mistress’s hand in both of hers and said, as though she were giving the oath of fealty, ‘I swear to Your Highness, you can be sure of me.’
Bess leapt up, flicked Ashley on the nose, cried, ‘Silly old Ash-Cat, what are you so solemn about? Look! the shower is over and the sun’s come out!’ and dashed into the garden.
CHAPTER FIVE
It was a large and charming garden, enclosed within its high red brick wall that was only ten years old, but already mellowed to a warm rosy hue, and had small fruit trees splayed against it. Some old trees and shrubs had been allowed to remain, though they interrupted the symmetry of the formal rectangular flowerbeds and knot gardens and paths edged with box hedges a few inches high. In the wall at the far end was set a postern gate which opened on to the reedy marshy fields, bare of hedges but with outcrops of scrub and forest, that spread away into a blue distance of low wooded hills, the heights of Highgate and Hampstead.
And across this open country, by the single road that led through the village of Chelsea to the Manor, Tom Seymour came riding this windy stormy sunny afternoon in late February.
He saw the bright sails of the boats on the Thames scudding as if on dry land beyond the trees, which were still bare and purple-black, but flushed here and there with the palest glimmer of gold; it might have been the willows budding, or only wet twigs in the sunlight. The square stone tower of the church on the riverbank looked almost white against a blue-black stormcloud, for the sun was shining onit, and the golden weathercock flashed through the tossing branches as if some exotic bird had strayed up-river with the seagulls that squalled and swirled around it, making wheels and arrows of white light.
He came to the new red wall of the Manor garden, dismounted and gave his horse’s bridle to the groom that rode with him, opened the postern gate with a key that he pulled out of a little purse in his belt; and there he stood for a moment, quite still. The formal flowerbeds were glistening with wet earth, but along the borders crocuses pierced them with little flecks of coloured light. Some hazel shrubs dangled their catkins in the wind in a shimmer of faintly yellow tassels, and a blackbird shouted its early song as it
Similar Books
