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The House Of Lanyon. Valerie Anand
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Автор произведения Valerie Anand
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Издательство HarperCollins
They had other small squabbles later. Liza never told him of the feeling of guilt toward her family, which often kept her awake at night; nor did he tell her of his own wakeful nights, when he wondered what he was about, how it happened that the studies, the prospect of full priesthood, which had once, to him, been the meat and bread, the sweet water and glowing wine of the spirit, were now nothing but yesterday’s cold pottage.
But sometimes their secret misery, forced to dwell side by side with this extraordinary thing which had come upon them and bound them together and could not be altered, seemed to turn them into flint and tinder and sparks of anger were struck, though only to be extinguished moments later by Liza’s tears and Christopher’s kisses and that sudden, enchanting grin as his temper faded.
They never went further than kisses, though. Their stolen embraces woke a deep hunger in them, but the common sense to which they had been bred, and the knowledge, too, that they would be breaking Christopher’s solemn, priestly promise of celibacy, protected them.
“I think sometimes that we quarrel because I want you so much but I know I mustn’t,” Christopher said once, after one of their brief arguments.
Cautious caresses were all they would ever have of one another and they knew it. They would have this one magical summer, but never would the enchantment reach its natural conclusion, and the summer would soon be gone. As it now was. From what Liza had heard that morning, the woman with the sharp nose and ears apparently did have owl’s eyes, as well. Talk had started somehow and almost certainly with her. Very likely she knew them both quite well by sight. Their secret was almost out. Only her family’s kindly trust in her had kept them skeptical, but it wouldn’t last.
Now, standing by the plague cross on the Alcombe road, they recognised that their time was done.
“They are arranging my marriage,” said Liza. “And they’ve heard talk. We dare not ever meet again. It’s over, Christopher.”
“Oh, dear God. Don’t say that!” He closed his fingers around her upper arms so tightly that she protested and he eased his grip, but his face had gone hard. “It can’t be…so suddenly, so soon!”
“But we knew it was coming,” said Liza miserably. “We’ve always known. I can’t defy them and if I did—even if we ran off together—I shouldn’t take you from your vocation. I know that. Only, I don’t know how to bear losing you. I just don’t know how to bear it.”
“Nor do I!”
He drew her into the shelter of some trees, out of sight of the track, and pushed her coif back so that he could kiss her thick brown hair, and then for a long time they stood there, clasping each other so tightly that they could almost have been one entity, as they longed to be.
Parting was so painful that they did not know how to do it. Liza, gazing into his face as though she were trying to memorise it, had a sudden inspiration and pulled a patterned silver ring from the middle finger of her right hand. “Christopher! Take this! It’s loose on my thickest finger, but it might fit one of yours. Please take it and wear it. I want you to have it!”
“But…how did you come by it? If someone gave it to you as a gift, should you give it away?”
“It belonged to my grandmother. When she died, Mother gave it to me. But it’s always been loose, as I said. I can say I’ve lost it. Mother will scold because she’ll think I was careless, but nothing more. Take it, Christopher, please.”
He did so, trying it on his left little finger and finding that it fit quite well. Then, at last, after one final and furious kiss, they let each other go. Christopher, looking over his shoulder all the time, went to reclaim his pony, and Liza, putting her hair back under its coif, found her hands trembling. She saw him mount and waved to him, but then couldn’t bear it anymore. She turned away, brushing a hand across her eyes, and started back across the field.
The women were still there, gleaning, nearer to the path now, and they looked at her curiously. One of them—Liza recognised her as Bridget, the wife of another weaver—said, “Are you all right, m’dear? You look a bit mazed and sad-like.”
That was when she realised she was crying. She wiped her knuckles across her eyes. “It’s nothing.” They went on staring at her and she told them one small part of the truth. “I think I’m going to be married but I don’t know him very well and…”
“Ah, that’ll come right soon enough,” Bridget said kindly. “Don’t ’ee worry, now. Nicholas’ll not agree to anything but what’s good for thee. Don’t ’ee fret a moment longer. You’ll be as happy as a lark, and think of all they pretty babes that’ll come!”
“Of course,” said Liza, now determinedly smiling. “Of course I know you’re right.”
Whatever happened she mustn’t have red eyes when she reached home. With a frightened jolt she realised she had been away without explanation for quite a long time, and that her parents knew there was gossip about her.
She must find an excuse for her absence. She could say she had wanted to go for a walk and when passing through the lobby had overheard her father talking about marrying her to Peter Lanyon. That she hadn’t meant to listen but had accidentally heard that much. So she had walked to St. George’s church to pray for happiness in her future, and then walked back across the stubble field. Yes, that would do, and if Bridget should ever mention seeing her, it would fit in.
CHAPTER FIVE
UNTIMELY AUTUMN
With an effort that felt like pulling her heart out of her body, Liza arranged another smile on her face as she approached her home, only to realise, on reaching it, that she needn’t have troubled. Her family was in the middle of one of its noisy crises. Dirk, the younger of the two menservants in the Weaver establishment, was up astride the roof ridge along with her cousin Laurie, doing something to a chimney, and she could hear shouting within the house while she was still several yards away.
As she stepped inside, the smell of soot assailed her nostrils and the shouting resolved itself into confused cries of annoyance from women in the main room, and a furious bellowing from the back regions, which she recognised as the voice of one of the older cousins, Ed, declaring that soot was blowing into the fleece store and would somebody shut that accursed door before the whole lot had to be washed a second time!
She walked into the living quarters and her mother and one of the maidservants, both liberally smeared with dirt, turned from the business of sweeping up a shocking mess of soot and disintegrated bird’s nest, which had apparently come down the chimney and mingled with the revolting remains of a fire over which someone had tossed a pail of water. Above it, the filthy and battered remains of what had once been a thin tree branch waved and waggled, presumably because Laurie and Dirk on the roof were agitating it. “What in the world…?” said Liza.
“The chimney were blocked,” said Margaret. “Where’ve you been?”
“I just went out to take the air. I went to St. George’s and—”
“You and your walks.” But Great-Uncle Will had advised them not to challenge Liza, and Margaret, distracted by domestic upheaval, didn’t at that moment want to. “Find a broom and help us out. Fine old muddle this is, I must say. Spring-cleaning in October. I never did hear the like.”
No need after all for excuses or lies. She’d got away with it. Thanking the saints for her good luck, Liza made haste to be useful. Later in the day, when order had been restored and dinner eaten, her parents called her to their room, and she felt alarmed, but their faces were kind. They simply wanted to talk about her marriage. Nothing less, but nothing more, either. If her absence in the morning had aroused any doubts, they evidently didn’t mean to mention them—unless Liza herself was foolish enough to be difficult. She knew her kinfolk very well indeed.
“The whole family