LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

the morning sitting by the river watching various craft moving along—which always delighted her—Arlette brushed the dried grass from her skirts, straightened her hair and hurried into the house.

      Oaklands House, west of London, was a lovely house. It had been Richard Arden’s family home for generations, built in better, more prosperous times to get away from the plague which descended on the city every year. Its airy halls, parlours and reception rooms were carpeted and tastefully furnished. Beyond the domestic quarters, the buttery, bakehouse and wash house could be found. The gardens were a well-kept delight and extensive, the smooth lawns dropping down to the river’s edge. Hester kept the house in perfect order, ruling the servants with a firm hand.

      The Ardens were hard-working mercers. The family’s substantial business premises were in Spitalfields, where fabrics were stored and trained women and apprentices in leather aprons carried out the work of weaving. Hester’s husband, Richard Arden, a harsh, controlling man, went into the City each day, one of the servants rowing him down river. Devoted to business and administration, not for him was life idle and carefree.

      Richard had prospered in his trade before the wars and because he had declared for Parliament when the troubles began, he had been allowed to continue with his business unhindered, but it had suffered very badly from lack of trade during the Commonwealth. Now King Charles and his courtiers were returning, with nobles and their ladies flooding the capital once more, trade in finer fabrics—brocades from Milan, silks from Lucca and Venetian velvets of supreme quality—would be in demand once more. But that was in the future and Richard had no capital put by to invest.

      Arlette found her sister in the parlour. With more constraints than excesses, when Arlette had come to Oaklands House, she had soon realised that life was not going to be easy for her, but she wearily accepted the way Richard treated her without complaint. In the beginning he had welcomed her into his home with a genuine warmth, glad that Hester would have the company of her sister and to have an extra pair of hands to help with the everyday chores.

      Hester had a desperate yearning for a child of her own. In the early days of her marriage she had lost a child and, as the years went by and she failed to conceive another, being deprived of this natural function enjoyed by most women of her acquaintance had left her feeling deeply disappointed and inadequate in some way as a woman. She was tense at the moment—she had been for days—she was always like this when she was going to visit Richard’s sister, Anne Willoughby, who had a large brood of children, which only exacerbated Hester’s own sorry situation.

      Hester lifted her brows and stared disapprovingly at her sister’s attire, her eyes lingering overlong and with exasperation on a rip in her skirt, caused when it had become snagged on a thorn bush. Arlette was aware of Hester’s displeasure over her friendship with James Sefton—in her sister’s opinion the time she spent with James could be more usefully spent. The Sefton family of Willow Hall were neighbours. With his fair hair and boyishly handsome face, James had a precocious and open manner. Arlette valued his friendship, but their relationship was no more than that. Direct from his travels abroad, he had returned to England ahead of his father, who was to return from his years in exile with King Charles Stuart. His mother, of Puritan stock, had remained at Willow Hall throughout the wars.

      ‘Mary said you wished to speak to me, Hester.’

      ‘I sent for you half an hour ago, Arlette. Have I not enough to do without worrying about you all the time? As you well know we are to travel into the city tomorrow and there are a thousand and one things to be done. Anne and her husband are expecting us in good time. Since we are to stay with them overnight I have much to pack—which is something you can help me with when you have cleaned yourself up.’

      Arlette knew exactly what Hester was thinking when she looked at her. Her pale blue eyes were narrowed with annoyance as she darted sharp disapproving glances at her, having burst into the house shattering the peace. Arlette knew she must present a frightful vision in her stained and crumpled skirts. Shoving the untidy mop of hair back from her face, she sank into a chair in a most unladylike pose, doing little to appease Hester’s displeasure. She prided herself on being intelligent, quick-thinking and sharp-witted, but much as Hester loved her she was always accusing her of being problematical and a constant headache. She heard Hester sigh heavily, as if tired of her burden.

      News had reached them shortly after William Latham had brought Arlette to London that their father had died following a visit from Cromwell’s soldiers searching for Royalists who had fled Worcester after the battle. Like hundreds of Royalist properties, Mayfield Hall had been sequestered by Parliament. Neither of them had been back to Mayfield since, although Blanche sometimes wrote to Arlette with news of friends and neighbours who had been a part of her life, and the elderly Parliament man and his wife who now lived in Mayfield Hall. They had learned that their brother Thomas, along with over a thousand English and Scottish captives and some foreign mercenaries, had been sent to Barbados as virtual slaves. Whether he lived or had died they had no way of knowing.

      Arlette was more beautiful than Hester had ever hoped to be, but she lived for the moment and had little interest in anything that was not to do with outdoor pursuits.

      Following his ten-year stay in France, the King’s exile was over. His ship, the Royal Charles, along with the rest of the fleet, had arrived in Dover, where he had been received with obeisance and honour by General Monck, commander-in-chief of all the forces in England and Scotland, the man who had played the most crucial part in his restoration. The King was expected to enter his capital during the next few days. It was for this reason that they were going to stay with Anne and her husband, who lived on the Strand. Anne and her brother Richard had been raised in a Puritan household and when the troubles had started between the King and Parliament they had supported Parliament, but Edward, Anne’s husband, was a staunch Royalist and he welcomed the return of the monarchy and was insistent on celebrating it.

      Mortified that she had upset her sister and keen to make amends, Arlette swept her hair back from her face and stood up. ‘I will help you, Hester. I’m sorry. It was remiss of me to leave you to do it all. It completely slipped my mind. Was there something else?’

      ‘Yes, as a matter of fact there is. Sir Ralph Crompton has approached Richard again. Do you forget that soon you are to be betrothed?’

      Arlette’s face fell. The effect of Hester’s remark was like having a bucket of cold water thrown over her and was a reminder that soon she would have the mundane affairs of a wife to fill her days—soon, but not yet—and she continued to resist. ‘I do not forget, Hester, but...’ She sighed. ‘I don’t see why I have to marry him.’

      ‘He is taken with you, Arlette. You know perfectly well he is.’

      This was true. Sir Ralph was also a mercer and nothing would please Richard more than for his sister-in-law to marry an important and respected member of the guild, a man who played a prominent role in London’s civic life. Along with other members of the guild, Richard had suffered because of the restrictions austerity imposed on him by the Commonwealth. He felt the humiliation of his reduced status and when Sir Ralph expressed his interest in making Arlette his wife, it was like balm to his wounds. She did not have the dowry formerly anticipated and the most worthy of the men seeking wives, those able to provide her with standing and security, would turn their attention elsewhere. Marriage to Sir Ralph would provide Richard with an important connection and raise his standing with the guild. Sir Ralph had offered a sizable stipend to be paid for Arlette’s hand in marriage, which would not be forthcoming if she turned him down. Richard had readily accepted on Arlette’s behalf.

      The instant Arlette had set eyes on Ralph Crompton she had taken a dislike to him, but she had thought she sensed the trace of a satisfied smile on his smug face. She had moved away when he had positioned his hand on her waist as though he had the right. He had appraised her, studied her with the sure eye of someone who knows exactly what he likes and is used to getting what his desires dictate. She had never believed herself capable of stirring such a desire in anyone, but just as an animal scents danger, with the same primal instinct she knew that Sir Ralph Crompton had decided to pursue her.

      ‘There must be hundreds of women he could choose from.

Скачать книгу