LITMIR.BIZ

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in black, the dowdiness had been replaced by a beguiling vulnerability to which Peter instantly responded, for Hester’s nut-brown hair under a jewelled velvet band had suffered hours of Maybelle’s ministrations and now, framing her face in a heart-shaped roll, suited her perfectly.

      Peter’s response to Adorna’s introduction was even more immediate. ‘Sir William Pickering’s daughter?’ He beamed. ‘Why, mistress, I have admired your late father’s exploits since I was so high—’ he held a hand level with his waist ‘—and I even met him, once. Come, will you speak of him to me?’ His large fingers closed warmly over the trembling ones and Hester was obliged to abandon Adorna’s advice concerning smiles and nods in order to talk of a father she had hardly known. It was good practice, but not exactly what Lady Marion had had in mind.

      Sir Thomas’s musicians were by now in full swing high up in the gallery at the far end of the hall. Below them, the guests entered from a porch at one side, adding another layer of sound that rose in waves of laughter and drifted away into the great oaken rafters. Even while she chatted, Adorna could identify the booming stage-voice of Master Burbage, their actor friend, followed by the reed-pipe squeak of Master Thomas Tallis whose wife Joan held him up by one elbow as a stool was placed beneath him. Yet, though she was soon surrounded by friends and acquaintances, Adorna felt the effect of someone’s eyes on the back of her head that pulled her slowly round and drew her away like a netted fish.

      Although Sir Nicholas was part of a newly arrived group, he took no part in their conversation but aimed his narrowed eyes towards Adorna, meeting hers as she turned, throwing out a challenge for her to come and welcome him. To refuse would have been too discourteous.

      She lifted the golden pomander that swung on a chain at her waist and went forward, unable to withdraw her eyes from his though, even as they met, there was not the smile of welcome she had given to others.

      ‘Your lady mother bade me welcome,’ he said, softly.

      ‘Of course,’ said Adorna. ‘She would see no reason to do otherwise.’ Her heart beat loudly under her straight pink bodice, making her breathless.

      ‘And you, mistress? Do you see a reason to do otherwise?’

      ‘I see several reasons, sir, but don’t concern yourself with them. It cannot be the first time a woman has taken an aversion to you. But then, perhaps it is.’

      He glanced around him as if to find an example, but saw Hester instead. ‘Ah, Cousin Hester. Was it your doing that transformed the lady, or had it already begun? Quite remarkable. She’s learning to speak, too, I see. Well, well.’

      Coming from another, she might have smiled at this sarcasm, but a mixture of pride and protection quelled it. ‘I was not aware,’ she said, ‘that you and she knew each other. She tells me that you found the hunting good at Bishops Standing.’

      ‘Is that all she told you?’

      His blunt question made her pause, not knowing how to learn more without betraying her interest. Mercifully, she was prevented from saying anything by the Yeoman of the Ewery’s arrival, whose invitation to dip their fingers into the silver bowl of scented water signalled an end to most conversations. She dried hers on the linen towel and handed it to Sir Nicholas. ‘I am expected to take you to her,’ she said. ‘Will you come, sir?’

      ‘Gladly,’ he said, smiling. ‘I can hardly wait.’

      For some reason, she would have preferred a token show of reluctance, but now there was just time, before the procession to the table, to present Sir Nicholas to Mistress Hester Pickering and to watch like a hawk as his eyes smiled into hers and quickly roamed, approving or amused, over the new image. By this time, the effect of conversation and the warmth of the hall had brought a most becoming flush to Hester’s cheeks and a sparkle to her eyes and, though she kept the latter modestly lowered, the newly darkened lashes made alluring crescents upon her skin. This show of mutual pleasure left no doubt in Adorna’s mind that Lady Marion would be delighted to see how her plan was falling into place so neatly.

      Peter took Adorna’s arm to steer her to one side, noting the direction of her interest. ‘I thought you said she was shy,’ he said.

      Adorna looked puzzled. ‘Did she tell you of her father, then?’

      ‘Only a little. She talked of Sir Nicholas, mostly.’

      Once again, the conversation was curtailed by the ceremonial observed by every noble household at meal-times, the waiting, the seating, the ritual carving and presenting, by which time there were obligatory gasps of delight at the array of dishes, their colours, variety and decoration. Lady Marion had, for this event, brought out the best silver dishes, bowls and ewers, the great salts, the best spoons and knives, the finest monogrammed linen. On the two-tiered court-cupboard stood the best Venetian glasses, while an army of liveried servers attended diligently to every guest’s needs.

      Adorna tried to avoid looking at Hester and Sir Nicholas, but her curiosity got the better of her, her sneaking looks between mouthfuls and words feeding her snippets of information as to Hester’s responsiveness to Sir Nicholas’s attentions. His attention was required from other quarters, too, for the table of over thirty guests was merry and light-hearted, and Sir Nicholas was an excellent conversationalist. Adorna would have been blind not to see how the women, young and old, glowed when he spoke to them, prompting her to recall his uncivil manner as he had hauled her out of the river, his familiarity afterwards, even when he had discovered whose daughter she was.

      With renewed assiduity she turned all her attention towards the other end of the table and to her partner, taking what pleasure she could from the safe predictability of Peter’s good manners and to the chatter of her friends, all the while straining to single out the deep cultured voice of Sir Nicholas Rayne. At the end of two courses, they were led into the garden where the double doors of the banqueting house had been thrown open to receive the slow trickle of guests. Here was laid out an astonishing selection of tiny sweet-meats on silver trays, candied fruits, chunks of orange marmalade, sweet wafers and gingerbreads, march-pane and sugar-paste dainties covered with gold leaf. Jellies and syllabubs were served in tiny glasses, and biscuits were placed on wooden roundels, each guest nibbling, exclaiming, and moving outside to admire the formal flower-beds, the view over the friary orchard and the river in the distance.

      Purposely, Adorna kept some distance between herself and Sir Nicholas while she spoke to many of the guests, laughing at their jokes and listening to their opinions, never straying far from Peter’s side. From there, she could signal to Sir Nicholas that she had no wish for his company. Her mother, however, had already begun to waver on this point.

      She whispered in Adorna’s ear, ‘You didn’t tell me!’

      ‘Tell you what, Mother?’ Acting total innocence came quite easily to her.

      ‘That he was so handsome. And distinguished. If I’d understood that he was my lord of Leicester’s deputy, I’d have had him instead of Master Fowler partner you. Is Sir Nicholas the one who helped you out of the river?’

      Adorna’s eyes strayed once more to the midnight-blue taffeta doublet, velvet breeches and black silk hose, to his elegant bearing, to the gold buckles and jewels on his swordbelt and scabbard. His hand rested on one hip while with the other he held up his wooden roundel, reversed, from which he read the poem painted on the rim.

      ‘Lord Elyot’s eldest son,’ her mother continued, ‘I think, dearest, that you ought to be making yourself a little more agreeable to Sir Nicholas. He’s going to be wasted on Cousin Hester.’

      ‘I’d much rather he played the part you invited him for,’ Adorna replied. ‘Though I think Hester’s wasted on him.’

      But Lady Marion was only half-listening. ‘Don’t be difficult, dear. Come along!’ she called to Sir Nicholas’s group. ‘You must sing your roundelays, you know. I think you should be the one to start them off, Sir Nicholas, if you please. Show them how it should be done.’

      The idea of having guests to sing for their suppers was not a new one, each one expecting to contribute

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